Unhappy customer
by Paul Auchon
Summary: Napoleon, Illya and Gaby are well aware that one cannot be a successful agent and not make a couple of dangerous enemies. Things get complicated when one of these enemies decides to get revenge on the trio.
1. Chapter 1

**New story :) I hope you enjoy this one**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own the characters**

* * *

 _ **Unknown location**_

Napoleon Solo cried out as his back slammed against the wall with bone-shattering force. Before he could recover, his partner punched him hard in the face, grabbed him, and threw him bodily across the room. The American agent shakily got to his feet and used his sleeve to wipe the blood dripping from his nose.

 _I know I said that it had to look convincing but damn, Peril!_

Illya rapidly closed the distance between them and threw another punch. This time, Napoleon managed to dodge the blow and countered with a kick but his move lacked power and Illya easily blocked his foot and swept his other leg from under him. Napoleon crashed to the floor and immediately tried to roll away, to no avail. The Russian was already upon him, he seized Napoleon by the throat one handed and drove him into the nearest wall. The American raised his hands to break his partner's grip, leaving his torso unprotected. A mistake he instantly regretted as Illya used his free hand to punch him viciously in the ribs. Napoleon heard something crack and felt a sharp pain in his side. He gasped and fell to his knees as Illya let go of his throat.

 _Definitely a nice touch of authenticity, Peril…_

This time he didn't attempt to get up, the blow had winded him and he was having a hard time catching his breath, the pain in his ribs wasn't helping. Illya was putting on a good show but Napoleon was hoping that his next attack wouldn't be as vigorous as this one and that he would let him land a few punches for a change.

Suddenly, a speaker attached to the wall crackled and a taunting voice filled the room.

"So it looks like you're the one who's going to die, Solo…That's quite a punch you pack, Kuryakin, I could almost hear the sound of poor Solo's ribs breaking, truly entertaining. But I still feel that you're holding back. May I make a suggestion? Punches and kicks can do a lot of damage but it gets repetitive after a while. How about you start spilling more of your partner's blood by using the tools I provided you with?"

Napoleon could hear the cruel smile in the man's voice. He was still down on his hands and knees, recovering. Illya's legs were in his field of vision. The Russian wasn't moving.

Another crackling sound.

"I really think you should follow my advice, Kuryakin. You know what will happen if you don't. It would be a shame if someone had to suffer the consequences of your stubbornness…"

A second passed, another. Napoleon could feel his heart hammering painfully against his ribs. Then Illya started heading toward a table at the far end of the room. The American closed his eyes and sighed heavily. He knew what was on the table, and he knew that their situation was about to get worse.

His eyes shot open as he heard something metallic hit the floor in front of him. Napoleon hesitated for a second, then he picked up the knife that Illya had just tossed him.

"A noble gesture, Kuryakin. And Solo is accepting the challenge. I knew good old Solo still had some fight left in him. This is going to be interesting."

 _Interesting is an understatement…_

Napoleon pushed himself up, wincing at the pain in his side. His gaze fell on the giant bowie knife in his partner's hand and he felt his pulse quicken. He knew how skilled the Russian was with knives. As Illya stepped closer, Napoleon looked into his eyes, trying to read his expression, he saw nothing but cold determination.

 _We are still only pretending, right?.._

The gleeful voice filled the room once again.

"Enjoy yourselves boys, try not to make it end too soon, but don't take too much time either. Remember, the clock is ticking. One of you has to be dead before the deadline or else…Well, we've already been over this."

At these words, Napoleon saw Illya's gaze shift almost imperceptibly to the timer on the wall. When his eyes shifted back to the American, they were filled with murderous rage.

Napoleon adjusted his grip on the knife and adopted a fighting stance.

 _Let's see how much worse this day can get…_

 **End of chapter 1.**

 **Let me know what you think :)**


	2. Chapter 2

**Sorry for the (very) long absence, life is keeping me super busy and I had no time for writing for a while. Here is chapter 2. Chapter 3 and 4 are coming very soon. Let me know if you're still enjoying the story**

 _ **Unknown location, the day before, Gaby's p.o.v.**_

Gaby opened her eyes. She blinked a few times, waiting for her eyes to get used to the light. Her head hurt and something was covering her mouth. She tried to raise her hands to her face, but they felt really heavy and wouldn't move. Looking down she understood why. She was sitting on a chair, tied up, her arms strapped to the arms of the chair. Then she realized that her mouth had been taped shut.

 _How...?_

Gradually she started remembering. She had been walking down the street on the way to her apartment to call Waverly. She had been in a hurry and absorbed in her thoughts. She had bumped into a man coming the other way. She remembered feeling a sharp stinging sensation, as if something had pricked her arm, but her mind had been focused on apologizing. And then her mind couldn't focus anymore. She had suddenly felt extremely dizzy and the man had caught her before she collapsed. She had heard him say something like:

"Are you feeling all right? Here let me help. Don't worry I'll take good care of you, _Miss Teller_ "

And that was all she could remember before everything went dark. And it was enough to make her shudder. The man had known her name. What did that mean? Why had she been taken and by whom? Gaby looked around her. The room she was in was spacious and brightly lit. Right in front of her she could see a large screen on the wall, under it was a control panel, it looked like a video surveillance system. There was also a camera in the room, pointed right at her. Before Gaby could continue scanning her surroundings, a door opened behind her, startling her.

"Oh, it looks like you are finally awake, Miss Teller."

A man's voice. Not the one who had drugged her on the street.

"I hope we didn't keep you waiting too long. Don't worry, with the delightful show I have prepared for you, I guarantee that you will soon be entertained"

The voice grew closer until two men finally came into her field of vision. She had been right, the man who was now standing in front of her was older than the one who had drugged her. And his face. She would have remembered that face. It was covered with burn scars. The man was almost bald except for a few patches of hair on his scarred skull. The scars went all the way down his neck and as her gaze fell on his right hand, she noticed that it had also been burnt. Gaby repressed a shudder. She had no idea who the man was but his appearance and the cruel smile playing on his lips were enough to make her pulse race. Her eyes shifted to the other man's face. He wasn't the one she had bumped into on the street either. He was taller and looked younger, he had one of those faces that you easily forget but his eyes had a hard glint that made her uneasy. The older man sat down on a chair opposite her while the younger one moved out of her field of vision.

"Just relax, Miss Teller, you have no reason to be concerned, well, almost no reason. If everything goes as planned, you'll leave this place unharmed. But first, let me tell you a little bit about myself. I think it's important that we get better acquainted. It will help you understand why I'm keeping you here. Let me start by saying that I didn't always look like this."

Gaby's eyes lingered on the man's burns.

"These I owe to your partners. Napoleon Solo and Illya Kuryakin."

Her surprise seemed to amuse him.

"Two years ago I was a brilliant scientist, working for an important criminal organization. Things were going well until your partners showed up to shut us down. See the people I worked for were determined that our research be kept secret and rather then let the MI6 get their hands on it, they gave the order to activate the lab's self destruct system. I tried to save my life's work but failed and was gravely burnt. So your partners caused the destruction of everything I cared about and left me for dead."

Even though the man was creeping her out, Gaby had to resist the urge to roll her eyes. Was he seriously expecting compassion from her?

Engrossed in his own story, the man went on.

"I kept a low profile during the last two years. My recovery was a long and painful process but it wasn't a waste of time, on the contrary. It gave me time to plan my revenge. After a year I felt strong enough to get back into the business. Thanks to my reputation, it wasn't long before I was hired by another criminal organization and my new, privileged position meant that I had access to all sorts of interesting information. And so I spent the last year gathering all the information available about the two agents who had caused my downfall. I was looking for something that would allow me to exact the perfect revenge on them, the best way to make them suffer, destroy them as they had almost destroyed me. And I found it.

Gaby felt a chill run down her spine as he gave her a lopsided smile, one corner of his mouth weighed down by thick scar tissue.

 _So this is what happens when Illya and Napoleon are sent on an assignment without me…_

 **End of chapter 2.**


	3. Chapter 3

**I told you that chapter 3 was coming soon**

 _ **Unknown location, the next day, Napoleon's p.o.v.**_

Napoleon groaned as he was roused from sleep by two hands shaking him none too gently. His eyes opened and focused on the owner of those hands.

 _Why am I not surprised…_

Illya was kneeling next to him, staring at him. As was the case most of the time, the Russian had that look on his face of someone who has just tasted something really bitter but is too polite to spit it out and has to put up with the bad taste.

"Ah, Peril.", Napoleon said, pushing himself up to a sitting position. "It's nice to see a familiar face when waking up in a strange place."

He looked around him. They were in a large room with blank, white walls and an uncharacteristically high ceiling. The only piece of furniture was a table at the far end of the room. He had woken up with a headache and the light reflecting on the white walls wasn't helping.

"I assume you are as confused as I am as to why we're here?", he said, glancing at his partner.

Illya shrugged.

"Your guess is as good as mine, Cowboy."

Napoleon struggled to remember what had happened before he had passed out. He had been drugged, no doubt about that. He had received a message from Waverly. Their boss had not heard from Gaby in a while, she was on an assignment and hadn't reported back, all attempts to contact her had failed. Illya and him were supposed to meet with Waverly so that they could be briefed on the situation. Napoleon remembered finding it convenient that a taxi had been driving down his street just as he was leaving his apartment. The driver had insisted on shaking his hand and he remembered feeling a sting on the inside of his palm. Then, the world had started to blur.

 _A bit too convenient indeed…_

"So you were drugged too?", Napoleon asked Illya.

The Russian had gotten to his feet and was pacing.

"Yes."

"How long have you been conscious?"

"A while. You remain unconscious longer because you are weak."

Napoleon sighed and pushed himself to his feet.

 _Peril's definitely in a good mood._

He took a few steps, he was still a bit groggy but he was also intrigued by the table and wanted to have a look at what was on it.

"Weapons.", Illya said, as he saw Solo heading for the table. "Mostly knives and clubs. No guns."

At that moment, the sound of someone clearing their throat filled the room. A startled Solo spun around to locate the origin of the sound. His eyes settled on a speaker on the wall, close to the high ceiling.

"I'm glad to see that you are both awake. At last.", the voice went on. "You look so peaceful when you're asleep, Solo."

Napoleon frowned, the voice clearly belonged to a man and had a taunting quality, but more importantly it sounded vaguely familiar to him. It was hard to be sure, as the voice coming out of the speaker was slightly distorted, but he had a feeling that he had heard it before, he just couldn't place it. He turned to Illya, hoping to see his thoughts mirrored in his partner's gaze, but the only thing he could read in the Russian's eyes was that he was particularly annoyed.

It was clear from what the man had said that he was watching them. Napoleon looked up and spotted the cameras, he also spotted a screen, embedded in the wall, which he had not noticed before, next to one of the cameras at the far end of the room. The screen was blank. This inspection had taken him no more than ten seconds. He decided to speak before the voice could go on.

"So you can see us but we can't see you. It hardly seems fair." He saw Illya roll his eyes but he knew his partner understood what he was doing.

The speaker crackled as the disembodied voice sounded again.

"Let's just say I'm not much of a public person these days, Solo."

So he could hear them too. This meant that he and Illya would not be able to communicate freely.

"What's the screen for then?"

"Patience, Solo, I'm going to tell you everything you need to know. I've waited so long for this, I want to savor this moment, so be a dear and shut your damn mouth."

Napoleon was tempted to counter with one of his trademark witty lines but a frown from Illya made him think better of it.

"I know you're probably wondering why you're here and who I am.", the man gave a curt laugh. "For now, let's just say that I am an old friend."

"You'll have to forgive us", Napoleon cut in, ignoring the "Shut up, Cowboy!" vibe radiating from his partner. "We tend to meet a lot of nutcases in our line of work."

"Oh, you've probably forgotten about me Solo, but I haven't forgotten about you both. It has been a long, long time, and I thought a reunion was in order. Now let me explain why you're here. Like I said you might not remember me but some years ago you completely destroyed what mattered the most to me; my life's work. And you almost managed to kill me too. But I survived and here I am, ready to return the favor."

 _Well that narrows it down… It sounds like about 90% of our missions._

Napoleon wondered why their captor was intentionally remaining vague about his identity. Maybe he thought that it gave him more power over them, or maybe he was saving the big reveal for later, the man seemed to have a taste for the theatrical.

"But enough about me, I'm sure you're eager to know what I brought you here for. Well it's very simple actually, you are going to fight each other until one of you dies. Now, you're probably asking yourselves what could possibly motivate you to try and kill each other."

 _Oh I can think of one or two reasons…_

"Which is why I'm going to provide you with a little incentive. If I may direct your attention to the screen…"

As the man uttered these words, the screen came to life and Napoleon had a sudden sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. The screen showed the remaining member of their trio, Gaby. She appeared to be tied to a chair and had a large piece of duct tape covering her mouth. She was conscious and was glaring at the camera, probably the same type of camera that their captor was using to watch them. Napoleon tore his gaze away from Gaby to glance at Illya. The Russian looked furious but he remained silent, probably aware that voicing his anger was pointless and might have bad consequences for Gaby.

"Very pretty, isn't she? Don't you worry, she's completely unharmed. Luckily for her, I don't have anything against her since she wasn't working with you on the mission that ruined my life. I'm only using her to hurt you. But I won't hesitate to kill her if you refuse to play along. And believe me I've had time to prepare for this, I know how to make her death extremely painful."

A sudden loud noise made Napoleon start. Illya had just slammed his fist down on the table – and on one of the sharp instruments lying there, judging by the blood that was dripping from his hand.

"Easy now, Kuryakin, you'll have plenty of time to spill blood while you're here, but for now let me finish. Here are the rules of the game."

The image on the screen changed and Gaby disappeared, replaced by a timer. The voice went on.

"See that timer, boys? It shows the time you have left to decide who is going to die. Since you already have a time constraint, I'm leaving it up to you to choose the method. As you can see on the table, I've provided a set of tools. Feel free to use them. As long as one of you dies before the end of the imparted time, I will let Miss Teller go free and unharmed. If you're both still alive after the deadline, I will kill Miss Teller. Now if you both die, I will also kill Miss Teller, there has to be a winner for her to survive. The winner will take her place and die a painful death after being submitted to horrible torture. So the one who dies in this room really doesn't get the short end of the stick. Think of it as mercy killing. But bear in mind that the one who gets out of this room will suffer horribly before they die. And don't waste your time trying to escape. The only way out of this room can only be opened from the outside. I know that Solo is quite the escape artist but I'm afraid there are no locks to pick this time. Now that you've been briefed, I'll leave you two alone to think about it and decide which role each of you is going to play."

 _I was right, our friend is definitely into theatrics…_

As silence filled the room again, Napoleon became aware of the blood pulsing in his temples. He and Illya exchanged a glance.

 _What are we going to do now?_

 _ **Unknown location, Gaby's p.o.v.**_

Of course Gaby had heard everything the man had said to Illya and Napoleon. She kept turning the words in her mind, trying to find a loophole, one glimpse of a solution. But this time it seemed that their situation was indeed hopeless. Her heart constricted as she imagined Illya and Napoleon fighting each other to save her. She didn't want to die but the thought of Napoleon being forced to kill Illya – or Illya to kill Napoleon, of course – to prevent her own death was unbearable. The boys had managed to communicate a little bit in Russian before the man had stopped them, threatening to hurt her if they talked again. He obviously didn't understand Russian. And neither did she so she had no idea what Napoleon and Illya had said to each other. Then the man had left the room for a short while, leaving his henchman to monitor her partners' actions. Instead of sitting at the control panel, the henchman had walked up to her chair and bent down until his mouth was close to her face. She had been saved by the sound of the scientist's footsteps in the corridor. The henchman had swiftly walked back to the control panel before her captor entered the room. She shot the younger man a worried glance. As if she didn't have enough on her plate.

"It seems that your partners are having some trouble getting started.", the scientist said, winking at her. "Let's give them a little nudge, shall we?"

 **End of chapter 3. (sorry for the long chapter)**


	4. Chapter 4

**And here is chapter 4. Hopefully chapter 5 is coming soon. Let me know what you think :)**

 _ **Unknown location, a few hours later, Napoleon's p.o.v.**_

Napoleon kept replaying the events of the last few hours in his mind, trying to decide when it had gone from bad to worse, and from worse to even worse. They had had no choice but to start fighting as their captor had threatened to hurt Gaby. He and Illya had managed to exchange a few words in Russian before the man had stopped them. And although he hadn't let it show, what Illya had told him then had surprised him, to say the least. Napoleon had asked the obvious question: what are we going to do? The Russian had simply answered that maybe he had a plan and that they needed to buy some time by pretending to fight. Napoleon had been about to express his doubts but he knew that they didn't have much time so he had decided to trust Illya and agreed to put on a believable show. Then their captor had cut him off and forbidden further communication between them.

They had fought hand-to-hand for a while and Napoleon had discovered, much to his dismay, that Illya's version of a fake fight was extremely close to the real thing. He had naively thought that the Russian would pull his punches and had ended up with a bloody nose and a cracked rib. But the moment he was strongly tempted to consider as the shift from worse to even worse was when, thanks to the advice of their ever-helpful captor, the fight had turned into a knife fight. Facing Illya with a knife was like facing a bull in the ring with no knowledge of bullfighting whatsoever, and with bright red targets over all your vital organs. The instant he had seen the steely resolve in his partner's eyes as he adopted a fighting stance, knife in hand, Napoleon had felt the seeds of doubt beginning to sprout in his mind. Had it been a ruse? Could it be that Illya had told him they were pretending so that he could have the upper hand more easily when the time came to kill him?

These thoughts were flashing through his mind as he tried his best to hold his partner at bay. Getting close for an attack, even a fake one, would be foolish. He wouldn't stand a chance. Thankfully he could tell that Illya was still holding back a little, using slashing motions when he could have easily stabbed something vital. Still, Napoleon was already bleeding from various cuts on his arms and he was getting tired, continuously dodging Illya's attacks was getting harder and harder. Suddenly, Illya feinted and a surprised Napoleon lost his balance, holding his arms out to steady himself, leaving his upper body unguarded. Illya seized the opportunity and slashed him across the chest. The American winced and staggered back, instinctively raising his free hand to his chest. He caught his partner's gaze and thought he read some trace of apology in his eyes.

 _Is that your way of telling me to focus, Peril?_

Then Illya did something he was not expecting. He lunged straight at him, knife first, without feinting. Napoleon easily side stepped him and kicked the knife out of his hand. He almost took a moment to congratulate himself on this small victory but at the same time he realized that his partner was now unarmed. What was he supposed to do, fight an unarmed Illya with a knife? Even if it was a small knife, it didn't seem right. This hesitation proved fatal to him as the Russian barreled into him at full speed. What had he been thinking? Illya didn't need his knife to be dangerous. He fell backwards, bumping his head on one of the walls as he went down. Illya fell on top of him knocking the wind out of him. The pressure on his broken rib made his eyes water as he struggled to breathe.

"Back to hand-to-hand fighting I see, Kuryakin. I must admit I am very curious to see how you're going to finish him off."

Napoleon had almost forgotten about their captor.

 _Dammit, Illya doesn't need a cheerleader!_

He had miraculously managed to keep his grip on the knife and started bringing it up in hope that Illya would back off. Another mistake as his partner delivered a forceful open hand chop to his arm, rendering it temporarily numb and useless. Napoleon cursed as the knife clattered to the floor. His partner's attacks were getting more and more violent. Again he began to wonder if the Russian was still acting or if he had been too trusting and had let his guard down one time too many. He didn't have much time to ponder the question though as Illya punched him in the gut. Before he could recover Illya punched him again. And again. He couldn't use his numb arm to protect himself and the Russian had his other arm and his legs pinned down. He screwed his eyes shut, waiting for the fourth blow. And wasn't disappointed as Illya's fist slammed full force into his temple this time. Pain exploded in his head. He was dazed from the force of the blow, yet still conscious but it felt as if all his strength had been drained from his body. He let Illya grab him by the front of his shirt and prop him up against the wall. He heard the blade scrape against the floor as his partner picked up the knife. Illya' gestures were more gentle now, almost precise. Whatever he was about to do, Napoleon didn't have the strength to fight back. The only thing that was holding him upright was the Russian's hand. Nothing happened for a second and Napoleon closed his eyes, hoping that it meant Illya was allowing him some time to recover. Then he felt the blade slide into his flesh. His eyes shot open and he gasped, the pain and shock momentarily clearing his thoughts. Illya had stabbed him. As he tried to wrap his head around this fact he suddenly became aware of the silence and stillness around him. He looked down at the knife protruding from his body. Then looked up again and met Illya's eyes. He saw pain, and guilt, and remorse, but also the same determination that had been there before. Then suddenly the peaceful silence that had surrounded him was troubled by several overlapping sounds. The sound of his blood beating in his temples, raging in his ears. The sound of his breathing, coming in short gasps. The sound of his voice, a pitiful groan which he hadn't realized had been coming out of his mouth.

Napoleon tried to move but Illya was still holding him firmly against the wall. Slowly, the Russian lifted his hand to Napoleon's face and covered his mouth as if to stifle his groans of pain.

"Shhh," Illya said, softly. "It's over Napoleon."

Napoleon frowned at the mention of his first name and as he felt something being pressed insistently against his mouth.

 _ **Illya's p.o.v.**_

Illya kept his hand pressed against his partner's mouth a bit longer. Then he saw a flash of understanding in Solo's eyes. Removing his hand, he gently pulled the American's body from against the wall and positioned himself behind him. As Solo began to struggle weakly, Illya swiftly slipped the hollow of his elbow under his partner's chin and pulled him close, cutting the blood flow to his brain. After a few seconds, Solo began convulsing and then stopped moving completely.

 _Forgive me, Cowboy. But this had to be done._

 **End of chapter 4.**


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5 is here. It's time to have a look at Illya's side of the story :)**

 _ **Unknown location, Gaby's p.o.v.**_

Gaby felt tears run down her face. She couldn't believe what she was seeing on the screen. Illya had stabbed Napoleon. She didn't want to believe it. Illya would never kill Napoleon, he wouldn't.

 _Except perhaps to save my life…_

She choked back a sob. The scientist was sitting in front of the screen, leaning close, as if he was enjoying a particularly captivating show.

"Kuryakin really did a number on Solo, didn't he, Miss Teller?", he said, without turning around.

Gaby could see the back of his head and the tufts of hair on his burnt scalp. She wished she could set them on fire just by glaring at them. Suddenly she felt something against her back. She tensed and strained her neck to look over her shoulder. The scientist's henchman was standing behind her, insistently poking her back with his finger. What was the creep doing? Gaby shuddered as she remembered how he had tried to kiss her neck earlier. She tried to lean forward, away from his touch, but her movements were limited. The scientist hadn't noticed anything. He was too busy taunting Illya. The tapping on her back stopped and the man's hand settled on her shoulder. He squeezed it in what resembled a reassuring gesture. Gaby frowned. Then the poking resumed. He let his touch linger, then a rapid poke, then a slow, lingering one and a rapid one again.

 _What…?_

And it dawned on her. It was Morse code. Becoming familiar with coded systems of communication had been part of her training when she had become an agent.

 _I'm tied to a chair, at the mercy of a madman, I just watched one of my partners kill the other and one of my captors is tapping Morse code on my back…_

She concentrated on the alternation of long and short nudges. The man was tapping the same message over and over. Mobilizing her rudimentary knowledge, she managed to decode it.

 _C-I-A? And that's the code for "undercover"…? Is this a joke?_

The man was CIA undercover? That was something she hadn't been expecting. Although, absurd as it might have seemed in her current situation, it made sense in a way. The scientist had said he was part of a large international criminal organization, the kind that was more than likely to attract the attention of intelligence agencies. Her pulse started to race as she tried to wrap her head around the message and its implications. She nodded once, to signify that she had understood and the message changed. SOS/MI6. He had contacted the MI6, probably through his superiors.

 _But Napoleon is dead..._

She knew the CIA agent had probably received the order not to compromise his cover.

 _But Napoleon is dead._

Her thoughts were interrupted by a sudden, deafening noise. The scientist had turned around and had a gun in his hand. She registered the sound of someone falling behind her but her eyes remained fixed on the gun. The scientist walked up to her chair, stepped around it and she heard another gunshot. He stepped back into her field of vision and shrugged apologetically.

"Sorry about that, Miss Teller. I can't stand perverts. He won't bother you anymore."

He sat back down in front of the screen.

"Now where were we?"

Gaby stared at the tufts of hair, completely stunned.

 _ **Unknown location, Illya's p.o.v**_

As he felt Solo twitch and lose consciousness, Illya counted the seconds mentally and imperceptibly loosened his chokehold to relieve the pressure on the unconscious agent's carotid arteries. He prayed silently that the fast-acting drug had been fast-acting enough.

 _Please, Cowboy, just stay dead…_

Solo didn't come around. Reassured that the drug was working, Illya remained in the same position for a couple of minutes, without applying pressure, to make it look like he had choked his partner to death. Then he let go and carefully laid the American's limp body down on the floor. He almost sighed in relief. That part was done. Now he was hoping that the mysterious someone who had provided the pill would send some help soon.

Several hours earlier he had woken up in this room next to an unconscious Solo. He had immediately felt an unusual weight in his pocket and had found his watch there. A tiny piece of paper had been taped to the back of it, along with an even tinier white pill with a series of numbers on it. He had recognized the pill instantly. Although at the time he had not understood what use it could be to him. It was a drug that was sometimes issued to agents for particular assignments. Its main purpose was to make the subject appear dead by drastically slowing their heart rate. It had been discontinued as it was considered too unreliable. The words "Help is on the way." had been scribbled on the paper at the back of the watch. Though he had been perplexed at first, the opening speech of their deranged captor had soon made it clear that both the pill and help of any sort would come in handy. He had briefly wondered who their mysterious ally could be. But he had quickly realized that speculating was pointless. Besides, what mattered was that they _had_ a mysterious ally. He felt some measure of guilt for keeping Cowboy in the dark, but it had been necessary. He knew Solo would have argued about who was going to take the pill. Besides, the success of the plan depended on Solo's "death" looking convincing. Cowboy's reactions would be more authentic if he thought Illya was actually going to kill him. This plan had the double advantage of ensuring Gaby's safety and giving Solo a small chance. If help was on the way, as the note suggested, he hoped it would show up in time. If not, he would face whatever their captor's deranged mind had concocted for them. It was a risky plan, which depended on many things that he had no control over, but their situation was desperate and it was all he had.

His original idea had been to beat up his partner, somehow make him swallow the pill, and "finish him off" with the blood choke. But as the man had insisted that he make Solo bleed, he had realized that it wouldn't be enough. Their captor wanted a real show. That's when he had decided to use the knife. Giving the pill to Solo had been easy enough. Stabbing him, not so much. Of course Illya had done it before, to incapacitate or inflict pain on an enemy while keeping them alive. The trick was to find the right spot and leave the knife in. With some practice he had become skilled at it…but doing it to his partner was a different story. This time he had been painfully aware that he had no margin for error. While the primary purpose of the knife fight had been to keep their captor entertained, his relentless attacks had also been designed to tire Solo out. After a while, he had let the American kick his Bowie knife out of his hand. He had had no further use for it. He had planned to use Solo's own, much smaller knife to stab him. But first he had had to beat him to a pulp to make sure that he would be in no condition to fight back or move around too much. Thankfully, in his weakened state, keeping Solo still had been easy and he had been able to stab him in the right spot – at least he hoped it had been the right spot. The blade had slid into his partner's body with sickening ease. Poor Cowboy had looked so surprised. Even after Illya had slashed him repeatedly with his knife and kicked the crap out of him, Solo had still trusted him. Although Illya had known that he hadn't really been betraying his partner he had felt overwhelmed with guilt when he had seen the shock and incredulity in Solo's eyes. He had considered slightly moving the knife in the wound to make Solo yelp and make the performance even more convincing and satisfying for their sadistic captor, but he just hadn't had the heart to do it. Cowboy had suffered enough.

Several minutes passed in silence as he replayed the events in his mind, down on his knees, next to Solo's inanimate body. After a while, the now familiar crackling sound snapped him out of his thoughts.

"Well done, Kuryakin, and with time to spare. By the way, sorry about my delayed reaction, a small matter needed to be taken care of. One of my guards was being a little too friendly with Miss Teller and I had to chastise him. But my, oh, my, what a satisfying sequence that was. I must admit finishing with a choke was a bit too gentle for my liking but very efficient."

Illya felt his blood boil at the mention of Gaby but he didn't acknowledge the man and kept his gaze on Solo.

"Admiring your handy work? I particularly enjoyed the stabbing part. How did it feel when the knife went in? I'm sure it can't have been easy to inflict all that pain on your own partner."

Illya gritted his teeth. The man had a knack for rubbing salt into the wound. He wanted nothing more than to get his hands on their captor and make him regret the day he'd been born. But now was not the time for threats. Now came the dicey part of the plan. He had no way of influencing what would happen next. He hung his head down. At least, he felt so bad for hurting and stabbing Solo that he didn't even need to rely on his acting skills this time.

"He's dead. You got what you wanted. Now you let my other partner go."

"Yes of course, don't worry. I'm a man of my word, Kuryakin. There's just one last formality to take care of before I let Miss Teller go. Nothing really, call it a simple precaution."

There was a brief pause – during which Illya became acutely aware of his hammering pulse – then the voice went on.

"Cut out his heart."

Illya looked up at the speaker, hoping he had misheard.

 _What?.._

 **End of chapter 5 (oops I did it again… (cliffhanger))**


	6. Chapter 6

**Thank you for the reviews! Here is chapter 6, and things haven't improved (yet?) sorry :)**

 _ **Unknown location Illya's p.o.v.**_

 _Cut out his heart…_

Illya repeated the man's words in his mind, trying to find a different meaning he could attach to them.

"What's the matter, Kuryakin? It's not like he's going to need it anyway."

As he listened to the cruel, taunting voice Illya couldn't help but wonder if their captor had seen through his ruse. He tried his best to maintain a calm facade.

"You said one of us had to die. I killed him. He's dead, you can come see for yourself. You got what you wanted now you let her go."

Illya hoped that he had sounded less desperate than he felt.

"Come on, Kuryakin, don't be stubborn. I know you're capable of doing it. You've done such a good job so far. One last effort and Miss Teller will be on her way."

Illya didn't dare move. His gaze fell on Solo's face. A bump was visible where he had hit him and there was a smear of dried blood under his left nostril. He looked convincingly dead.

"What are you waiting for?", the man went on. "Oh…I think I understand. Maybe you're trying to buy a little more time, in case the help you've been expecting finally arrives."

Illya's head whipped up towards the speaker as realization dawned on him.

 _He knows…_

A few seconds passed in silence then the man let out an amused sigh.

"Ah, Kuryakin. Did you really think it was going to be that easy? Who do you think put the drug and the message in your pocket?"

There was another pause as the man let what he had just said sink in.

"I wanted to give you hope. Just so that I could snuff it out. I must say that it was all very entertaining, especially when you stabbed Solo. I didn't think you would go that far."

The man gave a soft chuckle.

"I did warn you that the winner of this little game would be the one to suffer the most. And what better way to start than with a little session of psychological torture? So here is the new deal: you cut out Solo's heart and Miss Teller leaves this place in one piece. It's really not such a bad bargain. I mean, look at him, he is completely defenseless, how hard can it be? That drug you gave him should keep him unconscious. Then again, it may not, it was never that reliable… "

Illya felt his heart sink. In retrospect, his plan seemed so stupid. How uncharacteristically foolish he had been. The man was right. He had been clinging to that hope. He had wanted to believe that there was a way out. He understood now that he had underestimated just how much of a sadist their captor was.

"Ah, now I have you cornered. Tell me, how does it feel? Are you hurting yet, Kuryakin? Don't worry, it's about to get even better. Now you know what you have to do if you want to keep Miss Teller safe."

Illya had to resist the urge to yell. He wanted to kill that man so bad, he wanted to destroy him. But instead, he was kneeling in front of the unconscious, soon-to-be corpse of his partner. The feeling of powerlessness was almost too much to bear. A couple of minutes passed before he realized that the man had stopped talking. Then the familiar crackle of the speaker sounded again.

"I'm waiting, Kuryakin. There is no use in trying to buy time, now that you know no one is coming to rescue you. Or perhaps you're not taking my threats seriously enough. Let's give you a little incentive."

Another pause and suddenly an image appeared on the screen embedded in the wall. It still showed Gaby tied to the chair but she was no longer alone. Their captor was standing behind her. His face was out of the frame and only his hands were visible. One hand was holding Gaby's head up, in the other – which appeared to be covered with burn scars – was a scalpel. The voice of their captor sounded again, more distant but Illya could make out every chilling word.

"I think I'm going to start with the right eye. Then, if you're still indecisive, I'll remove the other one."

The scalpel hand suddenly moved closer to Gaby's face, the point of the blade almost touching her eye.

"Stop! I'll do it."

The hand froze. A few seconds dragged by then finally the hands moved away from Gaby's face and disappeared as the man moved out of the frame completely. Illya just had the time to see the tears in Gaby's eyes before the screen went black again.

"Finally you're being reasonable, Kuryakin. Now get to work, you've stretched my patience far enough."

Illya felt sick as he went to pick up the Bowie knife he had used to fight Solo earlier. He knelt down again beside his partner and started unbuttoning the unconscious American's shirt. His own hammering heart kept reminding him that, despite appearances, Cowboy's heart was still beating too. His friend was still alive and he was going to butcher him. Although he knew it was futile, considering what he was about to do, he took care not to dislodge the small knife embedded into Solo's body as he spread his shirt open. His eyes fell on the angry red slash wound on Solo's chest and he paused. Was he really going to cut his friend open and remove his heart? His gut twisted at the thought. But he didn't have any other options. He couldn't let the man torture Gaby, he had to save at least one partner if he could, and, although he hated himself for thinking that, there was a chance that Cowboy wouldn't feel anything. The knife felt heavy in his hand as he brought it close to his friend's body.

 _ **Unknown location, Gaby's p.o.v.**_

Gaby watched helplessly as Illya got up to pick up the knife. She didn't want to believe what she was seeing. Of course she had been terrified when the scientist had threatened to carve out her eyes, she still was. But the thought of what Illya was about to do to Solo to save her was unbearable. There had to be a way out of this nightmare. Her gaze shifted to the discarded scalpel on a table close to her. If it had been in her hand she could have used it to cut her bonds and stab her captor. But it wasn't in her hand, it was on that table, so close, but still out of reach. The tiny sliver of hope she had felt when she had realized that Napoleon was still alive had disappeared. She knew that even if the MI6 sent someone, they would never arrive in time to save Napoleon. And Illya would probably be dead too. And then, what would happen to her? Her gaze shifted back to the screen as she felt fresh tears forming in her eyes.

 **End of chapter 6. The end is near :)**


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7: last time we left Illya, Napoleon and Gaby in an uncomfortable situation, hopefully things will get better in this chapter… (warning: there might be some minor angst involved…again) ;)**

 **Edit: make that 2 more chapters and the story will be complete ;)**

 _ **Unknown location, CIA agent's p.o.v.**_

Things were moving too fast and he wasn't moving fast enough. The necessity for absolute silence and the pain in his chest and back were slowing him down as he crawled behind the chair and towards the table. At least he had the element of surprise on his side. The scientist wouldn't expect one of his henchmen to have been wearing a ballistic vest. Not that he ever took it off when he was on that type of assignment. He might have managed to infiltrate the organization and get close to the scientist but it hardly meant anything in this type of circles. If you weren't the boss, you were expendable to a more or less high degree. He had been lucky that the scientist wasn't a good shot. The man had aimed for the largest target both times, his chest, then his back. A more experienced shooter would probably have aimed for the head – at least for the second shot – and although the agent prided himself on his thick hair, he doubted that it would have been enough to prevent his brain from decorating the floor. The vest had saved his life, at least temporarily. He had no way of precisely assessing the damage; all he knew was that both shots had hurt like hell. The first bullet had caught him dead center in the chest and he had fallen down, completely winded by the impact. The second bullet had been fired at close range and had hit him in the back. The pain had been so intense that he had blacked out. Of course there would be some damage – a couple of broken ribs at the very least – but he couldn't concentrate on that now. He had a job to do. He needed to rescue the MI6 agents because it was what a good guy would do, and he mostly considered himself a good guy. But also because it was the only chance he had of getting out of there alive. From what he had gathered after he regained consciousness, all three agents were alive, even Solo who had been fed one of those damn make-you-look-dead pills. He had never understood how anyone could rely on those. Sure they made you appear dead – and it was pretty convincing – but they also made you unconscious and completely vulnerable. And then what if your enemy decided to shoot you in the face? Or forced your partner to carve your ticker out of your chest?

 _Damn, I wouldn't want to be in Kuryakin's shoes right now…_

Not that he was particularly glad to be in his own shoes either. He had briefly considered trying to take the scientist down when he had stepped behind the chair to threaten Miss Teller with the scalpel. But in his condition, he wasn't sure that he would have had the upper hand in a fight. Hell, he wasn't even sure he could stand up. So he had decided to focus his efforts on freeing the girl instead. And for that he needed the shiny little piece of surgical steel on that bloody Mount Everest of a table. He shot a glance at the screen. Kuryakin had picked up a large knife and was back at Solo's side. He didn't have much time left to make his move.

 _Dammit, I'm not paid enough for this bullshit…_

He resumed his painful, silent crawling and finally reached the table. He bit back a groan of pain as he pushed himself up onto his hands and knees. He risked a glance at the scientist. The man was completely absorbed with what was going on on the screen. The agent felt a small measure of relief as he closed his hand around the scalpel. Now he needed to cut Miss Teller's bonds.

 _Please don't scream…_

He glanced at the scientist again. A cry, even muffled by the tape might attract the man's attention and he wasn't exactly eager to take a third bullet.

 _ **Unknown location, Gaby's p.o.v.**_

Unable to bear the situation any longer, Gaby suddenly decided to act. She had to get her hands on that scalpel on the table. She kept her eyes on the scientist's back a while longer. He was enjoying his sick revenge and wasn't paying attention to her at all. He hadn't lied when he had said that he wasn't particularly interested in her and she was going to use that to her advantage. An embryo of a plan started to form in her mind. Her ankles were bound but she might still be able to rock her body and use her feet to move the chair closer to the table, little by little. It was a terrible plan and she knew it. But she needed to do something, anything. And even if she failed, it might at least attract the scientist's attention and stop what was happening on the screen. Ready to make her move, she let her gaze shift to her target and her heart missed a beat. The scalpel was gone. Then she felt something tug at her ankles from behind the chair and she barely suppressed a cry of surprise. She strained her neck to identify the source of the tugging and there was the late Mr. CIA agent, definitely not as dead as before but not looking extremely alive either. He put a finger to his lips and showed her the scalpel. Only then did Gaby realize that her ankles were no longer bound.

 _ **Unknown location, Illya's p.o.v.**_

Knife in hand, bent over the body of his partner, Illya hesitated. He was tempted to kill Solo by driving the knife through his heart, or breaking his neck, or anything relatively quick that wouldn't involve slicing him open and rummaging around in his chest to remove his heart. Their captor would probably still want him to butcher his friend's corpse but at least Solo would already be dead. He realized his attitude must have given his thoughts away as the voice sounded again.

"I know what you're thinking, Kuryakin! No cheating or you know what will happen to Miss Teller's pretty eyes. Besides, it won't be as much fun if Solo is already dead when you cut him open. No, no, I want him to be alive. Perhaps if you're dexterous enough you will be able to feel his still beating heart inside your hand. Wouldn't that be exciting, Kuryakin?"

Illya winced. He knew that the sole purpose of the man's words was to torment him and that he shouldn't react, still the thought made his stomach churn. He hoped that the drug would be strong enough to keep Solo unconscious. He kept his free hand firmly on the American's upper chest, in case he regained consciousness and Illya needed to hold him down. He could hardly feel Solo's heartbeat under his palm but the fact that he was still able to detect something was probably a sign that the effects of the drug were beginning to wear off. He needed to hurry.

 _ **Unknown location, CIA agent's p.o.v.**_

The second phase of the agent's plan was going smoothly enough – no scream, and no third bullet. He had already cut the bonds around Miss Teller's ankles and was now slicing through the ones around her right forearm. While he worked he kept glancing at the scientist to make sure that he was still too busy to pay attention to them. The freak was torturing Kuryakin with the gruesome notion that he might be able to hold his partner's beating heart in his hand. That scientist guy really was one seriously sick bastard. Okay, the man blamed Solo and Kuryakin for the loss of his life's work and sure, he understood how being turned into a piece of well-done steak could piss someone off, but this was pure sadism. Once he had freed the girl's right arm, he handed her the scalpel; she would work faster and he didn't want to move more than was necessary. He felt guilty that he couldn't do more to help her but, after all, she was a trained agent, so presumably she could take care of herself. He let out an inward sigh of relief as the surgical steel easily cut through the last bonds.

 _Well done, now go ahead and take this bastard down…wait…what is she doing?_

 _ **Unknown location, Gaby's p.o.v.**_

Finally freed from her bonds, Gaby felt renewed hope bloom within her but she also knew that there was no time to waste if she wanted to save Napoleon. She was now in full agent mode and a mental checklist spontaneously popped up in her mind. One: find an efficient weapon. True, she had the scalpel and her original idea had been to try and stab the scientist, but she wasn't as skilled as Illya when it came to knives and the blade was rather small so it would require more skill to do serious damage. She needed something bigger, something heavy that she could hit him with. She thought for a second then she got up, and, as silently as she could, grabbed the chair she had been tied to – all the while ignoring the disbelieving look on the CIA agent's face. Two: sneak up on her captor. Thankfully, the man was still busy tormenting Illya and his loud, taunting voice would cover her approach. Three: smash the chair down on that freak's head. Four: he's down but still moving, hit him again. Five: and hit him a third time, for good measure.

 _ **Unknown location, Illya's p.o.v.**_

Illya tried to focus on keeping his hand steady as he brought the knife down. He placed the blade against his partner's skin and tentatively drove the tip into his flesh. Solo didn't stir. Illya pushed the blade slightly deeper and made a small, hesitant incision. Still no reaction from his partner. He suddenly became aware that his free hand had been pressing down on the American chest much harder than he had intended. Not that it really mattered now. Still he forced himself to relieve the pressure as he glanced guiltily at Solo's face. He let his eyes linger on his partner's lifeless features for a second.

 _I'm sorry, Cowboy…_

Then he quickly looked away and took a deep breath as he prepared to push the knife in deeper and lengthen the incision.

 _ **Unknown location, Gaby's p.o.v.**_

Satisfied that the scientist was no longer moving, Gaby dropped the chair and looked up at the screen, hoping she wasn't too late. What she saw filled her with dread.

 _No…please, no…_

She tripped over the scientist's body as she hurriedly stepped closer to the control panel. She fumbled with the switch, finally managed to activate the microphone and started shouting. Much to her dismay, only a muffled, incomprehensible sound came out of her mouth. Cursing inwardly, she ripped off the piece of tape still covering her mouth and resumed her shouting.

 _ **Unknown location, Illya's p.o.v.**_

"Illya no! Stop!"

Illya had frozen mid-gesture as soon as he had heard the weird muffled sound come out of the speaker. Now he recognized Gaby's voice. What was going on? Was it another of his captor's tricks designed to torture him? Uncertain what to do, he didn't dare move. The tip of his knife was still embedded in Solo's body and he could see it shake inside the small wound, in unison with his hand.

Gaby's voice sounded again, more composed this time.

"Illya it's over, I'm safe now. Please trust me and just drop the knife."

It didn't make any sense. He didn't understand how she could be safe. But he wanted to trust her. He carefully pulled the blade out of Solo's body, sat back, opened his trembling hand and let the knife clatter to the floor. He suddenly felt drained and had to fight back a rising wave of nausea. He had been so close to doing it. He forced himself to look at the incision. The wound was small and not very deep, but of course it was bleeding. Illya retrieved the knife and cut a piece of his partner's shirt which he balled up and pressed against the wound. That simple task, the feeling under his palm of Solo's heartbeat progressively returning to normal, and Gaby's soothing voice helped him relax slightly and he allowed himself to feel some measure of relief. He would deal with the guilt later.

 **End of chapter 7.**

 **One more chapter left and the story is complete :) (oh, and I forgot to say thanks for the reviews)**


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8. This one's a long one. I hope you'll enjoy it :)**

* * *

 _ **Unknown location, Gaby's p.o.v.**_

Gaby watched as Illya used Napoleon's belt to secure the balled up piece of shirt tightly against the wound. Illya didn't seem too worried about the bleeding. Thankfully, the cut he had made wasn't too deep. The first stab wound was still plugged by the knife and the bleeding was minimal. Still Illya had also taken the time to dress it as best as he could. The fact that Napoleon was still unconscious didn't seem to worry Illya too much either; he had told her that the effects of the drug could last longer depending on the individual. Apparently Napoleon's pulse was back to normal and Illya had added that Solo was still unconscious because he was a fragile American. Gaby felt as if her every breath was a sigh of relief, it had been a close call. Of course, Napoleon would need medical attention soon but at least he wasn't in immediate danger. Still she was anxious for him to regain consciousness, his impression of a corpse was a little too convincing. A few minutes earlier Illya and her had discussed what they should do next. Their unexpected ally from the CIA had used a portable radio communication device to contact his superiors who had, in turn, contacted the MI6. Hopefully help was coming but they had agreed that contacting Waverly themselves might speed things up. The plan was to find a way to free Illya and use the radio transmitter to contact their boss. After a quick inspection of the control panel, Gaby had found the switch which controlled the opening and closing of the only way out of the room Illya and Napoleon were in. Illya had insisted that he wanted her to stay in the control room. According to him, the chances of them being spotted by guards would be doubled if they were both roaming the building. Gaby had almost protested but she knew he would have used any pretext he could find to keep her away from danger. Besides, mister CIA-guy looked like he wasn't in the best shape and she wanted to have a look at where he had been shot and see if there was anything she could do to help him. The man deserved it. If it hadn't been for him, her partners would have died and who knows what would have happened to her. Thanks to his knowledge of the building, the agent had even been able to provide Illya with directions to find the radio transmitter and reach the control room as well as information on the number of guards and how to avoid them. The other reason that had convinced her to stay put was that Napoleon would be left alone and she wanted to be able to keep an eye on him and talk to him if he woke up. She would lock the door again once Illya was out; that way she would be sure that no one could get in and harm Napoleon.

Once he was done dressing Solo's wounds, Illya got to his feet. Gaby saw him pick up the knife and he turned towards the camera. He was ready. She stared at his black and white image on the screen. His blond hair was damp with sweat and sticking to his forehead, he had a smear of Napoleon's blood on his face, where he had absentmindedly scratched his cheek. He looked tired. Her eyes shifted to the knife in his hand and she thought about the guns the guards would certainly be carrying.

"Please don't get yourself killed."

Gaby cringed inwardly, she had definitely sounded more emotional than she had intended. She almost welcomed Illya's frown and irritated tone.

"I know my job."

"Just be careful, okay?"

His frown lessened slightly. He looked straight into the camera and nodded. A few seconds later, he had disappeared through the opening at the back of the room. Gaby sighed as she engaged the locking mechanism of the door. She could tell Illya was shaken. She had noticed the way he avoided looking at Napoleon's face when he was taking care of his wounds. She could tell he was angry too, and it worried her. She knew how unpredictable and impulsive Illya could be when he was angry. The CIA agent's voice snapped her out of her thoughts.

"Sorry I can't be more helpful, but I think your Russian friend has a better chance than me of reaching the radio room quickly and without attracting the guards' attention."

She turned to look at him. He was sitting up against the wall to the left of the control panel. It struck her how different he seemed now from her first impression of him. Then again, he did undercover work, deceiving appearances were part of his job. Stripped of his cover he seemed to be a rather nice guy.

"You've been extremely helpful already, you deserve to rest for a while. I'm sure my partner will be fine.", she answered with a comforting smile.

 _He'd better be…_

The agent tried to adjust his position and hissed in pain as his back rubbed against one of the pipes running along the wall. Gaby sighed again, she should really be having a look at the man's injuries. Her eyes fell on the scientist's gun which she had set down on the control panel earlier.

 _Or maybe I should go find Illya. He doesn't have a gun and he might need one…_

The agent's voice jerked her out of her thoughts again, but this time it was considerably louder and more urgent. Unfortunately, the warning came too late. She cried out in surprise as she felt something grab her legs and pull violently. Just as she was losing her balance and going down, she understood what was happening.

 _I didn't hit hard enough…_

Gaby fell hard, banging her elbow against the floor. Before she could get up, a hand grabbed her by the hair, pulled her to her feet and roughly pushed her toward the center of the room. She immediately spun around and found herself face to face with the scientist. He was still bleeding from a gash on his scalp and a couple of bumps had sprouted on his head, including a particularly spectacular one with a tuft of hair on top which looked like a palm tree on a desert island. He had the gun in his hand.

"Surprised, Miss Teller? Don't beat yourself up, you did hit me pretty hard, even managed to knock me out. Good thing I have a hard head."

She was surprised indeed, and he definitely had an incredibly hard head. She had been sure that she had hit him with enough force to crack his skull.

He motioned for her to move closer to the wall against which the CIA agent was sitting up.

"That way I'll be able to keep an eye on you both. I don't want anyone sneaking up on me, this time."

Without turning around, the scientist stepped backwards until he reached the control panel, He flicked a switch and Gaby heard the distant wail of an alarm. Then he pressed a button, activated the microphone and spoke calmly, his eyes never leaving Gaby's face.

"Kuryakin has escaped, find him and bring him to me. You may rough him up a little but I want him alive. He still has some unfinished business he needs to attend to."

He switched off the microphone, glanced at the screen and smiled.

"I see Kuryakin took the time to dress his partner's wounds. Good thing Solo hasn't bled out, we'll be able to pick up where we left off once my men find Kuryakin. And once that's taken care of, I will kill you, Miss Teller. Right in front of Kuryakin. What? You didn't think I was going to let you go free after your little stunt, did you?"

Gaby glared at him. What had she been thinking. She should have slit the man's throat with the scalpel while he was unconscious. She had been too preoccupied with Napoleon's fate, then too busy talking to Illya.

Still aiming the gun at them, the scientist walked over to a small cabinet, opened a drawer and pulled out two pairs of handcuffs which he tossed toward Gaby.

"Since we don't want any more hmm…accidents, I'll let you cuff your new friend to that pipe above his head, then you will cuff yourself to that other pipe right here."

With no other choice but to comply, Gaby picked up the handcuffs and walked over to the CIA agent. He couldn't suppress a gasp of pain as she raised his arms above his head to wrap the cuffs around the pipe and clip the second cuff around his wrist. Then she cuffed herself to a length of pipe to the right of the agent. The scientist stepped closer to her, dragging the chair behind him. He checked her cuffs, making sure they were tight enough and pushed the chair against the back of her legs, forcing her to sit down.

"Make yourself comfortable, Miss Teller. You won't be going anywhere."

He went to check the CIA agent's handcuffs. Then, he stepped back, apparently satisfied, and gave an exaggerated sigh.

"Now", he said, looking down at the CIA agent. "I think there are some things we need to discuss, young man."

 _ **Unknown location, Illya's p.o.v.**_

Illya was lost, and very much pissed off. Everything had been going relatively well until he had reached the stairs leading to the room where the radio transmitter was hidden. Thanks to the information provided by the American, he had managed to move quickly without encountering any guards. Then all hell had broken loose. The sudden, deafening blare of an alarm had almost made him jump out of his skin. A few seconds later he had heard shouts and footsteps coming his way and had had no choice but to turn back and try to get as far as he could from the guards. After several minutes of half-crouched running and silent cursing, he had stopped to assess the situation. Someone had activated the alarm, which meant that someone knew he had escaped. And if that someone knew he had escaped, it meant that they had been or still were in the control room. Precisely where he had told Gaby to stay because he had thought she would be safer there.

 _Good thinking, Illya…_

He needed to get to the control room, and fast. The problem was that he had no idea how to get there. The convoluted detour he had made to escape the guards had caused him to lose his bearings. He had tried to trace his steps back but couldn't seem to find the damn stairs from which he had started. He had been wandering for a few minutes when he started hearing footsteps again. Running footsteps. Someone knew he was there. As silently as he could he turned the corner of the corridor and flattened himself against the wall. He waited, willing his hammering heart to quiet down. The footsteps stopped abruptly and he heard the sound of a door opening and slamming shut almost immediately after. Hesitantly, Illya left his hiding spot. Judging by the footsteps he had heard, it had been just one man. Maybe he could overpower him and get his hands on a gun. He stepped back into the corridor and carefully approached the only door. Slowly, he pressed down on the handle and cracked the door open. He risked a glance inside and almost smiled. He was looking at a restroom. That explained the running footsteps. He could hear the man relieving himself at the back of the room. Getting his hands on that gun was going to be easier than he had expected. Illya took one last glance over his shoulder to check that no one was coming from the other side of the corridor…and found himself looking at the butt of a handgun. He didn't even have time to see his opponent before the butt of the gun smashed into the side of his head. The blow wasn't strong enough to crack his skull but still enough to stun him. Staggering away from the door, he didn't even see the second blow coming. This time he fell to his knees, awkwardly raising his hands to protect his head. He felt a knee driven into his back and he toppled forward. His attacker used his weight to pin him down and pulled his arms behind his back, first the right arm, then the left one. Illya's hazy thoughts suddenly cleared as he heard the distinctive clicking sound and felt the metal around his wrists. Handcuffs. The pressure on his back disappeared and he was able to roll to a sitting position. The guard, who looked almost as tall as him and slightly bigger, had his gun pointed at Illya's face.

"Get up, Kuryakin, someone's expecting you."

As Illya awkwardly got to his feet, the meaning of the guard's words sunk in. Their captor was still alive. He was the one who had activated the alarm. And Gaby was with him. The guard grabbed him by the elbow and shoved him forward. As Illya started walking, he contemplated the irony of the situation. The man was probably taking him to the very room he had been looking for. The only problem was that his hands were cuffed behind his back and he had a gun pointed at the back of his head. All that because he had been too distracted by the sound of someone emptying their bladder. He could think of more glorious ways of getting caught. Barely managing to bottle up his frustration and anger, he started thinking of a way to get rid of his close escort once the man had guided him where he wanted to be. His head was throbbing where he had been hit and he had to make an extra effort to concentrate. At least the alarm had stopped blaring.

 _ **Unknown location, Gaby's p.o.v.**_

"Sorry, will you excuse me one second?"

Gaby watched as the scientist walked over to the control panel and switched off the alarm.

"It gets on my nerves after a while.", he said, winking at her. Then he returned his attention to the CIA agent.

"So, tell me. Who are you? Actually no, no don't tell me, let me guess. It's more fun that way and it will pass the time until Kuryakin gets here."

Gaby felt her pulse speed up. She didn't like the cruel smile on the man's face and the way he was looking at the agent.

"Since you're helping them I assume you must be one of them, but Miss Teller didn't recognize you so you don't work with her, and you're clearly American. Maybe CIA then. I know they've always been interested in my work. And to think I would never have suspected you if you hadn't decided to get involved and spoil my fun. But tell me, am I on the right track so far?"

The agent stared at him defiantly and remained silent. It didn't seem to bother the scientist who went on.

"And since you're still alive after taking a bullet in the chest that had to be close to your heart and another bullet at close range in the back, my guess is that you're wearing a bulletproof vest. Am I right?"

Again, the agent remained silent.

" You're not very talkative. Too bad, I'm just going to have to test my theory then."

As he uttered these words, the scientist took a couple of steps back. Then he brought the gun up and shot the CIA agent in the chest. Gaby flinched as the gun went off. The agent let out a weird strangled sound as the bullet hit him, then he started gasping for breath.

"I heard it feels like getting punched by a heavyweight boxing champion or being hit with a baseball bat. What do you think?"

Still getting no answer from the gasping agent, the scientist turned to Gaby and smiled.

"I suppose he hasn't made up his mind yet."

Then he shifted his aim slightly to the right of the agent's chest and shot him again. This time he was rewarded with a cry of pain.

"Ooo, that really hurt, didn't it? Are you sure you still don't want to answer me? It would be a shame if I had to shoot you again in the exact same spot", the scientist said as he brought the gun up a third time.

"Yes…it hurts…", the agent answered between gasps.

As she heard the pain in the agent's voice, Gaby couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt. She felt partly responsible for what was happening to him and she desperately wanted to help him but she new nothing she could say would stop the sadistic monster.

"I bet it hurts", the scientist went on. "You probably have a couple of broken ribs and possible internal bleeding. But I think we can do even better than that. Let's see what happens if I shoot you where you're not wearing any bulletproof clothing."

Gaby saw the CIA agent's eyes widen in fear and follow the barrel of the gun as it shifted toward his right leg.

"No!"

Just as she shouted, the gun went off. The agent let out a sharp scream and his face contorted in a grimace of pain. Gaby noticed his cuffed hands were balled up so tight that his knuckles were white. Her eyes shifted to his leg where a small bloodstain was slowly growing larger.

 _Please Illya, get us out of here…_

 _ **Unknown location, Illya's p.o.v.**_

They had only been walking for a few minutes when Illya spotted the staircase he had been looking for. The guard pushed him up the steps and down a corridor. Thanks to the CIA guy's directions, Illya knew where he was, getting to the control room from there would be easy. But first he needed to get rid of the guard. Halfway across the corridor he abruptly stopped walking. He felt the gun bump slightly against the back of his head as the surprised guard failed to stop in time. Perfect. Now he knew exactly where the gun was and he could deduce the position of the guard and the distance that separated them. He ducked and moved his head to the side so that the hand holding the gun would rest on his shoulder and at the same time he thrust his heel as hard as he could into what he estimated to be the guard's groin. His foot connected with something and Illya heard a strangled gasp. Good. The gun clattered to the floor. Even better. Illya spun around. The man was still standing but he was too busy making sure that everything was still intact to pay attention to him. Illya closed the distance between them and headbutted the guard in the nose. The man's hands flew to his face and Illya seized the opportunity to ram a knee into his gut. This time the big guard fell to his hands and knees, gasping for breath. Illya didn't waste any time, he knelt down in front of the man, pushed his knee against the guard's left shoulder and slid his opposite heel behind the guard's right armpit until his knee and heel connected. Then he let himself fall forward, putting all his weight on the guard, until the man lay flat on his belly. At the same time he slipped his right foot into the hollow of his left knee, trapping the guard's right arm and neck between his legs. It definitely wasn't his favorite version of this choke but with his hands cuffed behind his back it was the best he could do. He tightened the choke, compressing the guard's carotid arteries and waited. It didn't take long before the man lost consciousness. Illya didn't let go. He wasn't taking any chances. After a couple of minutes, he finally let go of the guard's limp body. He quickly searched the man's pockets – as quickly as his cuffed hands allowed him to – and found the key to open the handcuffs. Unfortunately the guard had cuffed him in such a way that the locks were facing up. Even Cowboy couldn't have picked those open. Illya cursed softly. How was he supposed to use a gun or a knife with his hands cuffed behind his back? He knew he wasn't flexible enough to slide his hands under his butt and bring the handcuffs to the front. He tried it anyway but only managed to lose his balance and hurt his shoulder. He stood up, extremely annoyed and slightly embarassed, thankfully, no one had been there to witness his ridiculous acrobatics. He took the handcuffs key with him; Gaby might be able to free him if he got to her in time. Thinking about Gaby reminded him that he had no time to waste. As he hurried toward the control room he heard what sounded like a gunshot. He finally reached the short corridor leading to the room, and heard another gunshot. And a loud scream of pain. A man's voice.

 _At least it's not Gaby…_

He quickly walked to the door and, straining his shoulders, managed to use his hands to press down on the handle. Thankfully the door didn't make any noise as he cracked it open. He let go of the handle and took a look inside. A man was standing with his back to him and had a gun in his hand. Judging by the burn scars, he was looking at their captor. Gaby was sitting on a chair. She was cuffed to a length of pipe but looked unharmed. A man was slumped against the wall with his hands also cuffed to a pipe above his head. Probably the CIA agent. He looked like he had been tortured and he was bleeding from a hole in his leg.

"I bet you're really starting to regret helping your fellow agents. Tell me, was it worth it?"

Illya recognized the cruel, taunting voice instantly. He felt his blood boil as he watched the man with the gun move closer to the CIA agent and viciously step on the gunshot wound in his leg.

 _Sadistic bastard…_

 _ **Unknown location, Gaby's p.o.v.**_

Gaby averted her gaze, unable to watch as the scientist started crushing the agent's wounded leg with his foot. The poor man's screams were enough to make her feel sick. She desperately wanted to get out of this room. Her eyes shifted to the door and her heart missed a beat.

 _Illya..?_

Her partner was standing silently behind the slightly ajar door and was looking straight at her. A wave of relief washed over her. Illya was alive. Illya had managed to escape the guards. Illya would get them out of this nightmare. He motioned with his head toward the scientist who was taking a break from his torture session to taunt the CIA agent. Gaby understood immediately what her partner had in mind. Of course, he would need a diversion. She took a deep breath and started sobbing. Her plan was to make as much noise as possible and monopolize the scientist's attention to allow Illya to sneak up on him. As her sobbing grew in intensity, she decided to add a touch of authenticity by loudly imploring her captor to stop torturing the agent. The scientist turned his attention to her. It was working. He smiled. His hideous, cruel, lopsided smile.

"You know what, I think you're right, Miss Teller. The poor young man is in terrible pain. Maybe it's time to end his suffering. After all, I don't really need him when I have you and you partners to play with."

He winked at her and placed the barrel of the gun against the agent's forehead.

 **End of chapter 8.**

 **(as always thanks for the reviews :) )**


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9. Thanks for the reviews on chapter 8! The story is not complete yet, there will be one more chapter. This one was fun to write (I sometimes act out some of the action/fight scenes to make sure it works :) ). I hope you like it.**

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 _ **Unknown location, Gaby's p.o.v.**_

Gaby felt her heart sink. It wasn't exactly the kind of diversion she had been hoping for. Still determined to cover Illya's approach, she let out a particularly high-pitched sob that surprised even her. The scientist laughed.

"Now, now, no need to get hysterical, Miss Teller. He'll hardly feel a thing."

Gaby risked a furtive glance at Illya. He was now inside the room and slowly closing the distance between him and the scientist. Something was odd, though. Why was he keeping his hands behind his back? It looked like he was about to surprise the scientist with a bouquet of flowers.

Her captor gave a theatrical sigh and went on.

"Would it make you feel better if I asked him for his opinion?"

He put the barrel of the gun under the agent's chin and used it to tip his head up.

"So, tell me, young man, would you rather end it now, or experience more of this?"

As he uttered those last words, he stomped on the poor man's wounded leg, causing him to yelp loudly.

"Hmm, you're going to have to be a little more articulate than that."

His only answer was the sound of the agent's jerky breathing.

"I see. You're leaving it up to me. That's settled, then.", the scientist said, bringing the gun back up against the agent's forehead.

 _Come on Illya, now!.._

The gun went off.

 _ **Unknown location, Illya's p.o.v.**_

Illya cursed inwardly. He had thought he would have more time to plan his move. Sneaking up behind an armed man without attracting his attention was already tricky, and now he had to do it fast enough to make sure the American agent didn't repaint the wall with his American brains. Their captor's sick little game of "would you rather" had bought him some time but he had only covered half the distance and the bastard was about to open the agent's third eye with a bullet. Illya hesitated for a fraction of a second. He would only have one shot at this. He needed to take the man down in one move. He stepped slightly to the left so that he would hit the man diagonally and throw off his aim to the right – away from Gaby. Then he started running. He barreled into the man shoulder first just as the gun was going off. The bullet hit the wall to the right of the agent's head. The poor man's life had probably flashed before his eyes, but at least it hadn't ended. The tricky part of the plan had gone relatively well, now came the much trickier part: fighting an armed opponent with his hands cuffed behind his back. As Illya landed awkwardly, he felt something dig into his stomach. The knife. He remembered he had slipped it into his waistband when he had been escaping the guards. Unfortunately it didn't make much difference. With his hands cuffed there was no way he could reach it. Thankfully, the man had gone down and dropped the gun when he had crashed into him but when Illya tried to pin him down, his opponent escaped him with surprising agility and kicked him in the face. Without his hands to protect himself, Illya took the full force of the kick and pain blinded him for a second. The man seized the opportunity to get up and retrieve the gun. Aware of the danger, Illya got to his feet as quickly as he could. But not quickly enough. Just as he was standing up, ready to lunge at his opponent, he saw the gun trained on his chest.

 _Too late…_

He heard Gaby scream and flinched as the man pulled the trigger, expecting to feel the bullet rip through his flesh. But the gun clicked empty. Their captor had probably used up his last rounds torturing the CIA agent. Illya noisily released the breath he'd been holding, his heart hammering madly, as if applauding this happy turn of events. His relief was short lived though as the man ejected the empty magazine and started reaching into an inside pocket.

 _I don't think so…_

Illya delivered a brutal kick which sent the gun flying. Then he charged straight at his opponent. The man fell backwards and Illya attempted to pin him down with his body, fully intending to head-butt him to death. But the man let out a howl of rage and immediately tried to claw at his eyes. Once again unable to protect his face, Illya leaned back to escape the man's clawing hands. The bottom of his shirt lifted slightly, revealing the handle of the knife, right in front of his opponent's eyes. With disconcerting speed, the man pulled the knife free and slashed sideways. Illya barely had the time to throw himself backwards and the blade grazed his chin instead of slashing his throat. He tried to spread his arms out to restore his balance but of course, the handcuffs wouldn't let him. He rolled uselessly onto his back and gasped as his opponent pounced on him, driving both knees into his gut. The man really was surprisingly faster and stronger than he looked. And now he had a knife. As Illya attempted to wiggle free, his opponent placed a firm hand on his chest, painfully digging his fingers into his sternum, transferring his weight onto Illya's upper body to limit his movements. Illya gritted his teeth as he felt his cuffed hands being crushed under him.

"It's a shame I didn't get to watch you cut out Solo's heart… But I'll take great pleasure in ripping yours out.", the man said, slowly raising the knife.

 _Not good…_

Illya let out an involuntary wheezing sound; it was becoming hard to breathe with the man's weight pushing down on his chest. Fortunately, because the man was applying most of his weight on Illya's torso, he was neglecting his legs. It was all Illya had left and he was going to use them. He managed to pull his left leg free and used it to push against his opponent's knee, breaking his balance and causing him to fall forward – thankfully, the man held his right hand out to catch himself, dropping the knife as he went down. Illya trapped the man's other leg with his own, then he bridged up, pushing hard on his left leg, rotating his opponent over and away from the knife. Wary of the man's fast reflexes, Illya wasted no time and head-butted him hard, thinking at the same time that he would be lucky if he didn't end up with a concussion. Then he sprang to his feet, just as the dazed man was attempting to sit up. He hurriedly stepped around his recovering opponent and, standing with his back to him, he squatted down and quickly slipped his cuffed hands over the man's head, bringing the short chain under his chin, around his throat like a garrote. Then he straightened his legs, dragging the man up with him and pulling hard with his arms to compress his opponent's trachea. The man started making loud choking noises and clawed brutally at Illya's hands, trying at the same time to relieve the pressure on his windpipe by pushing himself up with his feet. Cursing, Illya took a few steps to keep his opponent off balance and pulled even harder, bending forward. The muscles of his shoulders were screaming and his wrists were starting to feel numb.

 _This bastard just won't die..._

Finally, the choking noises stopped and Illya felt the man's body go slack. He didn't let go and, grunting from the pain in his shoulders, pulled hard one last time until he felt something give inside the man's throat. Only then did he let the body drop to the floor. Breathing hard, his heart pounding, he turned to look at his dead opponent. It was the first opportunity he had to have a good look at the man since he had entered the room. He thought he vaguely recognized the man from a previous mission. Some crazy scientist, if he remembered correctly. It was hard to be sure with all the burn scars, though. He stepped away from the body and looked up at Gaby.

"Are you okay?", he asked, still trying to catch his breath.

She was silently staring at him, her eyes wide, incredulous. After a few seconds, she finally spoke.

"You have your hands cuffed behind your back."

Illya opened his mouth to answer but a groan of pain coming from the CIA agent reminded him that the poor man still had a hole in his leg and was probably going to bleed out. Straining his shoulders, he retrieved the handcuff key from his pocket and handed it to Gaby, turning his back to her so that she could uncuff him. Once they were both free, Illya rushed to the CIA agent's side and started unbuttoning his shirt as Gaby unlocked his cuffs. He took a look at the man's leg wound, it was still bleeding but there was no spurting and the blood flow was slow. Good. That meant no arterial bleeding. With Gaby's help he removed the agent's shirt, frowning as he noticed the bullet impacts on the man's ballistic vest. He balled up the shirt and handed it to Gaby who pressed it firmly against the agent's leg. The man gasped and jerked. Illya put a hand on his shoulder to still him. Judging by the impacts on the man's vest, the next step was going to be even more painful for him.

"I need to remove the vest. Try not to move.", Illya said softly.

After a couple of painful minutes, the vest was off and Illya gently helped the agent lean back against the wall. He took a look at the man's torso and he and Gaby exchanged a concerned glance. The CIA agent's chest was swollen and covered in impressive bruises, a thin trickle of blood was slowly running from a shallow circular hole just above his right nipple. The small wound on the man's chest, suddenly reminded Illya of what he had almost done to his partner earlier. He pushed the thought to the back of his mind and looked up at the injured man's face.

"It does not look good."

"That's a little harsh… I exercise daily…", the agent answered weakly, his mouth curling up into a boyish smile.

Illya rolled his eyes.

 _Cowboy would probably get along well with this guy…_

Again, he pushed the thought aside and started feeling along the agent's ribs as gently as he could. As he pressed his fingers against a particularly swollen area, the agent cried out. His cry turned into a coughing fit and Illya frowned as he saw droplets of bright red blood drip onto the man's chin. He checked the agent's pulse and his frown deepened.

"Give me the good news first.", the man said with a weak smile.

Illya sighed. It looked like they weren't going to get any spontaneous help from the MI6 and even if he managed to contact Waverly and his boss agreed to send a rescue team with medical help, they would never arrive in time. The agent was probably going to die.

"The bullet in your leg missed the artery and the bleeding is not too severe. But you seem to have several badly broken ribs and you're bleeding internally. I can't do anything about the internal bleeding. Without quick medical treatment, you're going to die."

The agent glanced at Gaby.

"Is he always that cheerful?"

 _ **Unknown location, Gaby's p.o.v.**_

Gaby kept nervously chewing her bottom lip as she finished wrapping and securing the shirt around the CIA guy's leg. Illya was busy retrieving the gun and looking for spare magazines on the scientist's body and in the cabinets. She looked up at the agent. Illya was right. He really didn't look well. His face was covered with a sheen of sweat and his breathing was rapid and shallow. After a couple of minutes, Illya was back with the gun loaded and a spare magazine, ready to go find the radio transmitter and attempt to contact Waverly. He motioned for Gaby to stand up and led her away from the agent.

"It's time to go.", he said, keeping his voice low.

"I'm staying here.", Gaby answered, pointing at the injured man. "Someone needs to stay with him. And keep an eye on Sleeping Beauty-Solo."

She saw Illya's blue eyes narrow in frustration and shift to the CIA agent.

"He's not going to make it. Nothing you can do to help him.", he said, his Russian accent becoming slightly thicker as he grew impatient.

"At least he won't die alone. And what about Solo?"

Gaby noticed that Illya avoided her gaze every time she mentioned Napoleon.

"Solo will be fine. The door is locked. No one can get to him. But the door to this room can't be locked and the guards who are still looking for me will come here to report back to their boss at some point. And you have no weapon."

She said nothing and stared at him challengingly for a few seconds.

"Fine.", he growled. "Wait here."

Cursing under his breath, he exited the room before Gaby could ask for an explanation. A few minutes later he was back. With two guns.

"Got it from the guard who handcuffed me. They haven't found his body yet.", he explained, placing the guard's gun into Gaby's hand. As he turned to leave, Gaby caught him by the forearm and gave it a slight squeeze, hoping he understood the message.

 _Hurry up and don't get in trouble…_

She closed the door behind him and walked over to the scientist's body. He had already come back from the dead once and she wanted to make sure it wouldn't happen again. One look into the sightless eyes reassured her, Illya had definitely been more thorough than her. She returned to the agent's side and started using her sleeve to gently wipe the sweat from his face. She knew it was useless but she needed to keep her hands busy. They sat in silence for a while, lost in their respective thoughts, when suddenly, the agent's shaky voice brought Gaby back to reality.

"Your partner's awake…"

He was right. On the screen she could see that Napoleon's eyes were open and scanning the room. She rushed to the control panel to activate the microphone just as her partner attempted to lift his head and began to groan in pain.

"Solo! It's Gaby! You're injured, try not to move."

"Gaby…"

She noticed the weird way he was uttering her name, as if he was trying to decide whether he liked it or not. Illya had warned her that he might be slightly confused from the drug when he regained consciousness.

"Everything hurts…", he said, his face screwed up in pain. "Feels like I got hit by a train."

"The Moscow express, to be more precise."

"What…?"

"Nothing."

"Gaby?"

He sounded distressed now.

"What's wrong, Solo?"

"Where is my shirt?"

"Illya used it to dress your wounds."

"Where is Illya?"

"He's trying to contact Waverly to ask for a rescue team."

"He stabbed me…"

"I know, it was a bit over the top… Don't touch the knife!"

She let out a sharp breath of relief as Napoleon's hand, which had started to reach for the knife handle, dropped back to the floor. At that moment the CIA agent was seized by a violent coughing fit. As she turned to him he gave her a weak thumbs up and mouthed: "I'm fine". Her eyes lingered on the fresh bright red droplets on his chin before she turned her attention back to the screen.

"Just lie still, try to relax, Solo. Help will be here soon, hopefully"

"Gaby?"

She sighed. Woozy Solo was just as talkative as regular Solo.

"What?"

"Your eyes are pretty…"

"Thank you."

"And Illya's eyes are beautiful, too. I think your eyes should go on a date…"

Gaby frowned and, much to her annoyance, she felt herself blushing. Thankfully, she had her back turned to the CIA guy.

" _He might feel a little woozy", yeah right…_

Just as she was starting to wonder exactly what kind of drug Illya had given to Napoleon she heard distant shouting and gunshots. She grabbed the gun and exchanged a tense look with the CIA agent. Now she could hear footsteps in the corridor. She got up and trained the gun on the door. She kept her finger off the trigger, aware that the person outside might be Illya. The door opened slowly and she breathed a sigh of relief as she glimpsed a frowning face topped with messy light hair. His frown cleared as he saw that she was safe.

"What's going on out there?", Gaby asked. "I heard gunshots. Did you manage to contact Waverly?"

"I didn't have to. Rescue team is here.", Illya replied.

He turned toward the CIA agent, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

"You might survive, after all."

Gaby felt so relieved that she almost forgot to tell Illya about Napoleon.

"By the way, Solo's awake."

His smile disappeared and she saw him shoot a furtive glance at the screen. He looked uneasy.

"Good.", he muttered before he started heading for the door.

"Wait! "good"? That's it? And where are you going?"

"I need to help the others and guide the medical team.", he replied hurriedly as he exited the room.

Gaby stared at the closed door for a few seconds, puzzled by her partner's behavior.

 _What's the matter with you, Illya?..._

 **End of chapter 9.**

 **The more sadistic the bad guy is, the more satisfying it is when he finally gets what he deserves ;) (and I feel like I have to find a name for that CIA agent now :s :) )  
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	10. Chapter 10

**Thanks for the reviews on chapter 9! Here is the final chapter of this story, as always I hope you'll like it :)**

 **edit: there might be a small bonus chapter after this one :)**

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 _ **Unknown location, Illya's p.o.v.**_

 _He opens his eyes. White walls, and he knows he doesn't want to be here. He's not alone. Cowboy is here too, he's conscious this time. His wrists are cuffed to a pipe above his head and his mouth is taped shut._

 _It wasn't like this…_

 _Solo's eyes are wide with fear and he can see his bare chest rising and falling rapidly. Cowboy is scared. He puts his hand on his partner's shoulder in a reassuring gesture and suddenly there is a knife in his hand. Solo flinches and Illya knows he really doesn't want to be here. He tries to let go of the knife but it feels like it's glued to his hand. His arm moves and he has no control over it. The tip of the blade is now resting against Solo's skin. He pushes the knife in, deep._

 _That's not what happened…_

 _He slowly makes a long incision in his partner's body. It's easy, like cutting butter, and he feels sick. Cowboy doesn't scream. Simply looks at him, his eyes so wide open that it seems his eyelids will tear at the corners. Illya can feel his body trembling under the palm of his free hand. He looks down at the incision and his hand is inside the wound. He panics. He wants to pull his hand out but he has no control over his body. His hand starts moving around inside his partner's chest cavity and now there is screaming. So much screaming and the tape does little to muffle it. He just wants to make it end quickly now but he can't find his heart. He knows it has to be in there somewhere but he can't concentrate with all the screaming. He closes his eyes. He opens them again and the screaming has stopped. He knows there's something in his hand and he doesn't want to look down._

 _No, please, it's not what happened…_

 _His gaze shifts down slowly and he is holding his partner's heart in his hand. And, absurdly, it's still beating. Horror and disgust overwhelm him and he knows he is going to be sick. Suddenly a hand closes around his wrist. Cowboy is no longer cuffed to the pipe. He plucks the heart from his hand and Illya watches in horror as his partner desperately attempts to push his own heart back into his body through the gaping wound._

 _No…you should be dead…I'm sorry…_

 _He wants to stand up and run away from the grotesque scene. But he can't move. He wants to close his eyes to escape his partner's accusatory stare. But his eyes are already closed._

He opened his eyes.

"Are you okay?"

Gaby was watching him curiously from the other side of the backseat.

"You were mumbling in your sleep."

"I'm fine. Just tired."

Illya looked out the window of the car as he waited for his heartbeat to slow back down. He felt foolish for letting their captor get inside his head. Gaby's hand settled on his knee and he almost shied away from her touch.

"It's really late and Solo will be busy getting himself patched up. Maybe we should postpone the visit to the hospital until tomorrow and get some rest. We both need it.", she said, scooting over so that she could rest her head against his shoulder.

He agreed, trying to hide his relief. The last thing he wanted at that moment was to face his partner. Solo had been conscious, although not completely coherent, before they had taken him to the hospital, and Illya had done his best to avoid him. Gaby, who had talked to the medical team, had later listed to him his partner's confirmed and suspected injuries. Injuries he had inflicted. In addition to the various cuts, bruises and stab wounds, Solo apparently had at least one broken rib, moderate internal bleeding, and a concussion, no doubt from that last punch to the side of his head. At least, according to Gaby, the medics had sounded optimistic. They had been less sure about the other American agent who had been rushed to a different hospital, probably under the supervision of the CIA. They wanted to keep their man – and, more importantly, what he knew – safe. Illya sighed and looked down at Gaby. She still had her head against his shoulder and her regular breathing told him she had fallen asleep. Careful not to disturb her, he leaned his head back against the car seat but kept his eyes open. Soon, he started succumbing to the lulling motion of the car and as he felt himself drift off, he hoped for a dreamless sleep.

 _ **Solo's hospital room, the next day, Gaby's p.o.v.**_

"Come on, Illya! At this rate, Solo will be out of the hospital before we even get to his room."

Illya had been acting weird all day. Even during the meeting with Waverly that morning he had seemed exceptionally somber. And she had practically had to drag him along to the hospital to visit Solo.

"That's the room."

She knocked and pushed the door open without waiting for an answer, almost hitting Waverly, who had been standing on the other side, in the process.

"Ah, good, more company for you, Solo. Come in, come in. I was just about to leave. And for the love of God, quit sulking, Kuryakin, you look like a hitman in search of a new target. You're going to scare the nurses off and, from what I understand, Solo seems to greatly appreciate their company."

"To be honest, Sir, I think it would take more than that to keep them from flirting with Solo.", Gaby countered with a smile.

She saw Napoleon wink at her from across the room.

"Touché, Miss Teller. But don't get too used to this, Solo. Remember, I want you back at work on Monday!"

"He didn't say which Monday.", Napoleon said with a slight shrug after Waverly had closed the door behind him.

Gaby got closer to the bed. Illya didn't budge.

"Illya, we came here to visit Solo, not the coat rack at the far end of the room."

He reluctantly stepped closer and Gaby shrugged as Solo shot her a questioning look. She sat down on the edge of the bed and took a moment to study her partner. He still had a huge bump and impressive bruising on the side of his head and she could make out the shape of the thick bandages under his hospital gown, he looked tired and his hair was messy but apart from that he didn't look too bad, much better than she had expected actually.

"So, tell me, I'm dying to know, what happened while I was unconscious? Nothing too kinky I hope?"

Gaby shot a glance at Illya and he avoided her gaze. She hesitated for a second then decided to do Illya a favor and clear the air.

"Well, I guess it depends if your definition of kinky includes getting your heart ripped out by your own partner."

"Ouch. Well I'm certainly glad he didn't go through with it.", Solo answered, glancing furtively at Illya.

"It was a close call.", Gaby added, pointing at the bandage just below his ribcage.

"Hmm…I knew that wasn't there before I lost consciousness. Wait…that means you were actually going to rip out my heart, Peril?"

"I…I'm…"

Poor Illya looked and sounded like he'd rather be anywhere but here. Gaby chewed her lower lip nervously and looked alternately at her partners.

"Wow. So I suppose stabbing me wasn't enough?", Solo went on.

She shot him a look of disapproval but he ignored her.

 _What are you doing, Solo?.._

"The thing is, I don't know if I can ever forgive you or trust you again."

"Solo, I…"

"You completely ruined my favorite shirt."

"I'm sorry, I…what?"

"All right, second favorite, but don't try to change the subject. Do you have any idea how much I paid for that shirt? I always knew you had poor taste in clothing, Peril, but honestly, I didn't think that you would go that far."

 _ **Napoleon's p.o.v.**_

Napoleon shot Gaby a rapid glance and saw that she was struggling to keep a straight face. He was finding it hard to remain serious himself. Illya looked like a deer caught in headlights. He stood completely frozen, staring at him with his mouth slightly open, visibly at a loss as to what to do or say. Napoleon could understand what was going on in his partner's mind and he knew that he would probably have felt the same way if their roles had been reversed so he was determined to make his partner understand – in his own way – that he wasn't blaming him for anything that had happened.

 _Let's see if we can put a smile on that big Russian face of yours…_

"By the way, you didn't need to go through all that trouble, Peril. My heart was yours from the start.", he said, flashing his best cheeky smile. "Well maybe not from the very start.", he added, grimacing as he recalled his first encounter with the big Russian. "But close enough."

 _Now he's starting to get annoyed. He just needs one more little nudge…_

"Oh well, I suppose that literally stealing your heart is a KGB agent's idea of a romantic gesture. I'd watch out if I were you, Gaby..."

 _There it is, the eye roll…And now, the coup de grâce…_

"Honestly, Peril, I'm slightly upset that you thought I was going to blame you for all this. You know me better than that." He paused for effect. "I'm not heartl…"

"Stop right there, Cowboy, or I swear I'm going to finish the job."

"That's the spirit, Peril!"

The Russian finally seemed to realize that he and Gaby were looking at him expectantly and a hesitant, begrudging smile started to form on his lips.

 _Mission accomplished…_

The tension in the room had abated noticeably and, although Napoleon could tell that his partner was still uneasy, the next fifteen minutes went by pleasantly enough with Gaby and Illya filling him in on what he had missed. Then Gaby got up from where she was perched on the edge of his bed and told them that she had to leave and that she would be back in a couple of hours.

"I won't be long, just a couple of hours at most. You can wait for me here, Illya."

From the Russian's attitude, it was obvious that he wanted nothing more than to follow her out of the room.

 _Don't even think about it, Peril. You're staying with me until there's not a trace of unjustified guilt left in your stubborn Russian mind…_

 _ **Illya's p.o.v**_

"So, I take it you'll be keeping me company, Peril?"

He had been about to leave but Solo's question made his reaction seem inadequate. That was typical of Solo. The American had always had a knack for making him feel inadequate. He dragged a chair close to the bed and sat down. Then he looked up and met his partner's gaze. Solo had his trademark facial expression on. Eyebrows pulled together, creased forehead. It gave him an air of sophisticated seriousness which – for some reason Illya could not fathom – most of the women he met seemed to find irresistible. Illya suspected that his partner used that expression on purpose and secretly practiced it every day in front of the mirror. They stared at each other in silence for a few awkward seconds then Illya broke eye contact and Solo broke the silence.

"One thing I have always appreciated about you, Peril, is your innate talent for small talk. Would you mind handing me that glass of water? I would get it myself but I don't want to risk rupturing my stitches…"

Illya shot him a guilty glance, grabbed the glass from the bedside table and held it out to him. His partner made to take it but, as he was raising his arm, he suddenly gasped, his face twisting in pain. He let his arm drop back down and made an apologetic face.

"Sorry, Peril, but I think you're also going to have to help me drink. Even the slightest movement hurts."

Feeling even guiltier, Illya stood up and got closer to the head of the bed. He gently put a hand behind Solo's back to help him sit up straighter and brought the glass to his partner's lips, tipping it slightly, careful not to choke him with too much water.

"Thanks, Peril."

"It's the least I can do, after what happened."

They spent the following half hour talking about the scientist and reminiscing about past missions and Illya gradually began to relax. After a while they fell into a companionable silence until Solo declared that he was thirsty again…and easily reached for the glass on the bedside table, only grimacing slightly as he settled back against the pillows. Illya stared in disbelief as he lifted the glass to his lips with no apparent effort.

"You can drink without help…"

"Of course I can, Peril.", Solo answered, winking at him and flashing his trademark smile.

Illya tightened his lips and let the corners of his mouth curl down in an expression of ultimate annoyance.

"You're lucky you're injured…"

 _ **unknown location, Gaby's p.o.v.**_

Gaby silently followed the man through a small maze of corridors until he stopped in front of a door.

"We're here, Miss Teller. By the way, I hope you didn't mind the security check at the entrance, you know what it's like in our line of work. You just never know who can be trusted or not."

He gave her a weird smile and a few awkward seconds passed before he went on.

"Just ring when you're done and I'll escort you out."

She thanked the man and knocked on the door, smiling as she heard a familiar voice answer weakly.

"Hello, agent Marshall.", she said as she entered the room.

"Miss Teller? Hello…I…I wasn't expecting you.", the CIA agent answered, grimacing as he tried and failed to prop himself up higher in his hospital bed.

"Oh I won't be staying long, don't worry. I just wanted to see how you were doing."

Gaby grabbed a chair from the corner of the room and sat down close to the side of the bed. She studied the agent's face for a second.

"You look…slightly better than you did last time I saw you."

"Thank you…I suppose."

She gave him a playful smile and he went on.

"I can't say I feel much better though. Especially after the visit from my boss earlier today. Getting shot in the leg almost seems pleasant in comparison."

"It was that bad?"

"No, actually it wasn't. I'm exaggerating. He was uncharacteristically sympathetic. I suspect my doctor showed him my X-rays to mollify him. Besides, the information I had gathered before my cover was blown and what they were able to retrieve from that scientist guy's lab were enough to please him. He's just bitter about having to share some of it with the MI6. "

Gaby gave an amused sigh.

 _Little boys don't like to share their toys…_

"How do the ribs feel?"

"They hurt, but as long as I don't move, cough, sneeze, laugh or breathe, it's not too bad."

She smiled sympathetically.

"And the leg?"

"They said it should heal well but my days as an undercover field agent are over. At least for the next six months. How is Solo?"

"He's fine, he'll make a full recovery."

"Glad to hear that."

Her eyes fell on the hospital bracelet around the agent's wrist. He followed her gaze and flashed her his boyish grin.

"You like it? They had a toe ring version but I think this suits me better."

She turned his wrist slightly so that she could read the name scribbled on it.

"Marshall, A., A. Marshall. What does the "A" stand for? Wait, don't tell me, let me guess…"

To her surprise, the agent let out an exaggerated groan.

"Oh please, not you too!"

Gaby's face twisted in an apologetic grimace as she realized what he was referring to.

"Sorry."

He started laughing but the pain in his ribs rapidly dissuaded him.

"It's okay, as long as you don't shoot me every time you guess wrong."

"Don't worry that's not what I came here for.", she said, letting go of his wrist and squeezing his hand in a comforting gesture. "I wanted to thank you for risking your life to save me and my partners."

"Well, you're very welcome.", he answered, visibly embarrassed. "Speaking about your partners, I hope you didn't bring Kuryakin with you. I've seen what he's capable of and I wouldn't want him to walk in on us holding hands…"

Gaby felt her cheeks heat up.

"By the way", he went on. "Solo's right, you know. You two would be perfect together."

An image chose this inopportune moment to pop up in her mind. Blond hair, blue eyes, a small v-shaped scar. She was now blushing so hard that she wondered for a second if her face would ever revert back to its original color.

"Adrian.", she blurted out suddenly and she saw the agent raise a confused eyebrow. "Or Alan. Alan Marshall has a nice ring to it. Or Aloysius maybe…"

The agent stared at her as if he was trying to decide whether he should tease her some more or allow her to change the subject. After a few seconds and to Gaby's relief, he smiled and let her off the hook.

"Aloysius? Seriously?"

 _ **Solo's hospital room, Gaby's p.o.v. (two hours later)**_

As Gaby entered the room and saw her partners engaged in a game of chess, she thought to herself that if someone were to take a photograph at that precise moment, it would capture the relationship between the two men perfectly. Solo, looking tired but smug and Illya watching him with a look of extreme annoyance seasoned with a dash of concern.

She stepped into the picture.

"You cheat…"

"You simply got too used to playing against yourself, Peril. You've hit a plateau."

"I'm pretty sure that that pawn was already off the board…"

Napoleon winked at her and she smiled back.

"Care to join us, Gaby?"

"Only if I don't have to play."

"All right, you can just watch me win then."

She heard Illya mutter something under his breath and she shot Solo a questioning glance.

"What did he say?"

"It's Russian for crook, cheater and…I didn't catch the last one."

Illya gave him a pointed look and Gaby shook her head, the hint of a smile playing at the edges of her lips. Her partners would never change.

 _ **Unknown location**_

"Here are the files you requested, with everything my man was able to dig up on the agents. Marshall is the one who was working undercover for the CIA. We still don't know how he managed to infiltrate the organization."

"Well, it seems clear to me, we have that brilliant scientist you suggested we hire to thank for that. What about the other three?"

"Teller, Solo and Kuryakin. Apparently they're part of some international team working under the supervision of the MI6, the fruit of cooperation between the Americans, the British and the Russians. Teller is German, recruited by the British. Solo is CIA and Kuryakin was borrowed from the KGB."

"Interesting. What were they doing there?"

"Apparently, our employee had crossed paths with them before. It appears that they were responsible for his hmm…unusual appearance. My guess is that he simply wanted his revenge. The man had an obsessive nature, he had probably been planning this for quite some time."

"A fat lot of good it did him. See, that's why I never trusted the man with any sensitive information about the organization. I had a feeling he would make a mistake sooner or later, and with the CIA becoming increasingly inquisitive, we can't afford mistakes."

"It's a pity that his work was lost, though. He had made good progress on the project and now it's all in the hands of the CIA."

"That's regrettable, indeed, but we can always find a replacement and start over later. The important thing is that they can't use what they found to get to us."

"Are you going to…hmm… inform _them_ of what happened?"

"I don't see the point in bothering them with such a minor incident. Unless you want to personally explain to them how a man you recommended let an undercover CIA agent get close to him, invited three MI6 agents into his secret lab and caused the shutdown of one of their scientific side-projects."

"No, Sir, I'd rather not. So what are we going to do about the agents? This incident seems to indicate that they shouldn't be underestimated. They might cause trouble in the future and I think it would be a mistake to let them live. Solo and Marshall are both recovering in the hospital. Killing them and making it look like an accident would be easy. Then we could pick off the other two…"

"No. Let them live. For now. The CIA is already investigating us and it won't be long before the MI6 follows suit, we don't want to draw more attention by murdering their agents."

"With all due respect, I still think we should at least eliminate Marshall. If you're worried about drawing attention, one death will be less suspicious than four and he is more isolated and vulnerable than the others. One of my men is at the hospital with him right now. I just have one call to make and he will be taken care of. Or, if we want to be on the safe side concerning what he knows, my man can torture it out of him first, just to make sure he didn't hear or see something that could jeopardize the organization."

"Like I said, I'm not too worried about what Marshall knows, besides, he has probably already passed the information on to his superiors so there's really no point in killing him now. We'll just make sure to keep tabs on him and the three other agents in the future. And we can always get rid of them later, once the dust has settled a bit."

"But, Sir…"

"You're not questioning my decisions, are you?"

"No, Sir. Of course not."

"Good. You almost had me fooled for a moment there. Remember no one is irreplaceable, not even me and certainly not you… Well, I think that concludes our little meeting, unless there's anything you would like to add?"

"…"

"I didn't think so. I'll contact you again soon."

The man's polite expression turned into a scowl as soon as his superior had left the room. His eyes settled on the telephone. One call to make. He hesitated for a couple of minutes then he lifted the receiver and started dialing.

 **End of chapter 10.**

 **Let me know what you think :)**

 **(and no one will ever know what the first name of the CIA agent actually is :) )**


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11! I know I said it was going to be a "small" bonus chapter (because I felt bad for ending on a cliffhanger), it turned out to be a bit longer than I expected (never ending stooooryyyy (8)** **). Let me know if you like it :)  
**

 **Warning: creepy character inside :)**

 **edit: first chapter of the sequel ("A simple mission, really") is out! :)**

 **re-edit: if you want to know what Marshall looks like, here is a link to his 'official portrait' :P : "https":"/""/""ibb"."co"/eKx4Fd (just remove the "")  
**

* * *

 _ **Marshall's hospital room, Marshall's p.o.v.**_

He was staring at the ceiling, bored out of his mind. During the day, the visit from his boss, the more pleasant one from Gaby Teller, and the coming and going of the doctor and nurses had provided some distraction but it was now nighttime and everything was quiet. He had tried to fall asleep for a while but the dull pain in his ribs and the persistent itch under the bandage on his leg were not helping. He was so bored that he briefly considered using the nurse call button, just to get some company, but he new the nurse would probably murder him. He sighed and closed his eyes, trying for the umpteenth time to make himself fall asleep. Without much conviction, he started conjuring up peaceful mental imagery: the lazy ebb and flow of the ocean on a summer day, dead leaves slowly falling to the ground, the gentle sound of the rain on a window, the crackling of a comforting fire in the chimney, the sound of the door being furtively cracked open…

He opened his eyes and made an effort to sit up. His visitor chose this moment to switch on the light. His eyes being used to the darkness, the sudden brightness blinded him and he groaned.

 _Thanks…_

After a few seconds of furious blinking, he was finally able to identify his visitor. A doctor, judging by his attire. Something was odd though.

 _What's with the surgical cap and mask?.._

He briefly wondered if the doctor had made a mistake and was in the wrong room but the man was looking at him intently and making no move to leave.

"Can I help you with something?"

He knew it was a strange thing to say to a doctor but the whole situation was strange. His visitor's scrutinizing stare was making him slightly uncomfortable. After a few seconds, the man spoke, his voice somewhat muffled by the mask.

"I'm here to give you your medication, Mr. Marshall."

"What, now? What kind of medication? Why didn't you send a nurse?"

"It will help you relax and go to sleep, Mr. Marshall."

The man now had his back turned to him and seemed to preparing something on a small table at the far end of the room.

 _Three questions, one answer. Not good…_

The agent tensed up. None of this made sense. The doctor's visit in the middle of the night, the medication his other doctor had mentioned nothing about, the surgical attire, his visitor's unnerving silence… Marshall's instincts screamed at him to get out of the room, but in his condition, it wasn't really an option. He slowly reached for the call button by his bed and pressed it three or four times.

"It's not going to work, Mr. Marshall."

The man had apparently finished whatever he had been doing and was slowly stepping closer to the bed.

"What do you mean?", Marshall asked as he felt his heart perform a series of somersaults worth a perfect ten.

Instead of answering and before the agent had a chance to move, the man brutally grabbed him by the hair and tilted his head to the side, using his other hand to jab a needle into his neck, just below the angle of his jaw.

 _What the…?!_

He opened his mouth to scream but his attacker covered it with a gloved hand, muffling his protests while at the same time maintaining his head firmly against the headboard. He started struggling but the man was strong and he was in no condition to fight. After a couple of minutes and to his surprise, the man released him and took a step back. He was now standing by the bed, watching him with curious, smiling eyes.

"What…what did you inject me with?", Marshall asked, his voice sounding unusually thick to his own ears.

He raised a trembling hand to his neck and realized with a rising feeling of panic that whatever the fake doctor had injected him with was starting to compromise his ability to coordinate his movements. Never mind his injuries, he needed to get out of there, fast. Gasping in pain, he tried to push himself off the bed. But as his feet touched the floor, his wounded leg gave out. The man caught him just before he collapsed and pushed him back onto the bed.

"Careful, Mr. Marshall, I shouldn't have to remind you that with the injuries you sustained, it's not a good idea to try to get out of bed."

The tone was mockingly chiding, playful with a barely concealed hint of cruelty. The man was enjoying himself. As the agent flopped uselessly on the bed, trying in vain to push himself up, he realized with a mounting feeling of dread that it was too late, he was now completely at the mercy of his attacker. The man carefully laid him flat on his back, took hold of his left arm and held it in front of his eyes, as if to examine it.

"Ah, good thing your wrists are already bruised, Mr. Marshall, it will make my work even easier.", he said, letting his arm drop back down and pulling something out of his coat pocket.

The man moved out of his field of vision and he let out a pitiful groan as he felt his arms being pulled back above his head. He heard familiar clicking sounds and felt cold metal close around his tender wrists.

 _No, please not again…_

The man stepped back into his field of vision, considered him for a second then bent down over him so that his face was close to the agent's ear.

"Don't worry, everything's going to be fine. Just relax, Asher."

He tried to shout for help but his voice was weak. The man pressed a finger against his lips.

"Shh, don't bother trying, no one will hear you anyway. I made sure that we wouldn't be disturbed. I just want to have a little chat with the CIA agent who managed to infiltrate our organization. Congratulations, by the way. Sadly, my employers think that you should not be allowed to live so here is what's going to happen, you're going to tell me everything that you learned during your stay with us. It should be easy since you've probably already done it once for the benefit of your superiors. Then, I will kill you, Asher."

"I won't tell you anything… screw you and your organization."

He had meant to sound determined and aggressive but his weak voice and slightly slurred speech were ruining his performance.

"Well, if I'm completely honest, I was hoping you would say something along those lines. Because it gives me an occasion to engage in one of my favorite activities."

Asher Marshall closed his eyes wearily. It was not hard to guess the nature of that "favorite activity".

 _Come on…I don't deserve this…_

He heard movement and, opening his eyes, realized that the man had left his field of vision again. He tried to raise his head but it felt as if it weighed a ton, as did the rest of his body. Only his heart seemed to have retained the ability to function normally, and it was hammering painfully against his damaged ribcage.

 _ **Killer's p.o.v.**_

Once he had made sure that Marshall was comfortable and knew what to expect, he took a moment to study his target. The agent was a nice specimen, in his late twenties, fit, not bad looking. The drug he had administered would keep him docile but he would still be able to think and talk, even if it took extra effort. And more importantly, the agent would be able to feel what he was about to do to him. He could tell Marshall was scared but was trying his best not to let it show. He particularly enjoyed it when his targets were field agents, they were usually tough guys and the fun lasted longer. For this assignment, his employer had been clear. He needed to make it look like Marshall's death was accidental, or "due to natural causes". Which meant that in order to torture him, he would have to work with the injuries the agent had already sustained and leave as few traces as possible. Perfect. He loved a good challenge. He retrieved Marshall's x-rays from the table where he had set them down earlier and stepped closer to the bed.

"Look what I found, Asher.", he said, holding the x-rays in front of the agent's face.

Calling his victims by their first name was one of his quirks. He had learned from experience that it was one of the simplest but most efficient ways to get the target's heart racing a bit faster.

"I've always found anatomy fascinating. It teaches you most of what you need to know to efficiently inflict pain on someone. Let's have a look at these, shall we?", he said, holding an x-ray up to the light. "Wow. That scientist guy really did a number on you… I don't know which one to pick. Let's see, right here, that's your fifth rib on your right side, quite a nasty fracture. How about we look for it together, Asher?"

He placed a gentle hand on the agent's chest and smiled as he saw panic flicker in his eyes. He could feel Marshall's frantic heartbeat under his palm and his smile widened. This was his favorite part, the moment just before he started inflicting pain, he could feel his victim's fear radiate from his body.

"Anything you would like to tell me before we start?"

"Go to hell."

 _Brave little agent…_

He clamped his other hand over Marshall's mouth to stifle the screams he knew were coming. He could have used tape, or a gag, but he preferred this method, it was much more intimate and satisfying.

"Let's start from the bottom, shall we?"

He brought his hand just below Marshall's ribcage and lightly brushed his finger over his ribs as if he were counting them.

"…Seven, six, five. I think that's the one."

He paused and put on a fake sympathetic look.

"I won't torture you if you tell me what I want to know."

Of course Marshall knew he was lying. He could see it in his eyes. He gave a small chuckle, placed his fingers over the agent's fractured rib and pushed down, slowly. He smiled with sadistic pleasure as he heard Marshall's gasp of pain, muffled under his hand. He increased the pressure slightly, just enough to make the agent scream.

"See, Asher, that's the nice thing about broken ribs, they hurt so bad that it's easy to inflict excruciating pain without causing too much damage."

He waited a few more seconds, then he stopped applying pressure but kept his hand on his victim's chest.

"Hmm, I can tell you didn't like that. Shh, it's okay, just take a deep breath…or maybe don't."

He gave another chuckle. He was enjoying himself too much.

"You know, I don't have to do this again, Asher. Just tell me what I want to know and the pain will end."

He removed his hand from over the agent's mouth but from the look of determination in Marshall's eyes it was obvious that he wasn't ready to talk. Not that it really mattered to him. He was mostly torturing his target for his own amusement. He was paid to kill the agent, obtaining the information was just a bonus. He would prolong the fun for a little while, then he would kill Marshall and move on to his next target.

"Okay, let's pick another rib then!"

 _ **hospital, Sanders's p.o.v.**_

He nodded at the security guards as he entered the building and, despite the late hour they let him through without asking any questions. Adrian Sanders was one of those men who radiated that special type of confidence that comes with power. He had zero tolerance for incompetence, very little patience and was used to having his own way. Consequently, he hadn't thought twice about coming to the hospital in the middle of the night to wake up his injured agent and ask him some follow up questions. He had managed to get some information from Marshall during his visit, that morning, but his agent's doctor had insisted that he should rest and that further "questioning" could wait. But Sanders was growing impatient, he had questions and needed detailed answers and if it meant that his injured agent had to lose a few hours of rest, it was a sacrifice he was more than willing to make. The man was still working for him, after all. Even if he was hospitalized. He quickly made his way through the maze of corridors to Marshall's room. The area seemed quieter and deserted compared to the rest of the building. Good. He had known that he would have less chances of bumping into his agent's doctor during the night. He would just need to make sure he disabled his call button. As he got closer to the door, he thought he heard what sounded like a whimper. Good, that meant Marshall was already awake. He had his hand on the handle and was about to open the door when he heard another whimper, overlapping with a low voice. He cursed inwardly. Marshall was not alone. He silently cracked the door open and saw a white coat and a scrub cap. The doctor had his back turned to him and was bent over his agent's bed, apparently tending to him. Sanders rolled his eyes.

 _What's wrong with him now? A broken fingernail?_

Whatever the doctor was doing to his agent, it sounded painful.

 _Very painful…_

He frowned. Something was off. He had initially thought that Marshall was trying to hold back his cries of pain. But that wasn't it. It actually sounded like his agent was screaming in agony and someone or something was muffling his screams. He silently stepped closer to the bed and saw one of Marshall's legs twitch slightly. Then he spotted the handcuffs and stopped dead in his tracks. At that moment, the "doctor", who obviously doubled as a contract killer, seemed to sense his presence and turned around. In a second, Sanders's gaze jumped from the handcuffs to the man's face, covered by a surgical mask, to the man's hand clamped over his agent's mouth. He started reaching under his coat for his shoulder holster. As an agent handler, he rarely had a reason to quick draw his weapon these days, and time had slightly blunted his reflexes. Slow reflexes did not seem to be an issue for his opponent, however. The moment Sanders started reaching for the gun, the man grabbed a heavy medical tray and hurled it at him. He barely had the time to raise his arm to prevent the tray from hitting him square in the face. He grunted, then cursed, then finally managed to draw his weapon. He looked up in time to see the fake doctor charging at him with a scalpel. He squeezed off a round without taking the time to aim. He heard a satisfying groan of pain and the scalpel clattered to the floor but, carried by his momentum, the much larger man still crashed into him. The impact winded him and he lost his grip on the gun as he went down. Royally pissed off, but also acutely aware of his own mortality, he retrieved the gun and got to his feet much faster than he would have thought himself capable of. Not fast enough to take another shot at his opponent, though. The other man, probably younger and more agile, had not waited for him and had already disappeared out of the room. He rushed out in the corridor. Of course his aim was not to try and catch up with the killer. The man had already demonstrated that he was much faster than him. Instead, he went to the alarm panel on the wall and smashed his hand on the button. One wounded man and a facility full of CIA security, they probably wouldn't need his help for the chase. Holstering his gun, he stepped back into the room to check on Marshall. The young agent was conscious but his eyes had a slightly glazed look. Sanders started checking his agent's body for potential life-threatening wounds. He wasn't exactly sure what the killer had been doing to him and he knew that Marshall would need to be examined by a doctor – an actual doctor – but as far as he could tell, his agent seemed fine.

 _Well, at least not much worse than he was on my first visit…_

"Do you think you're going to be okay, Marshall? Or should I send for someone to get you down to the morgue?"

"That won't be…necessary…Sir."

He noticed that his agent's speech was slightly slurred. The killer had probably drugged him to keep him docile. He briefly wondered how long Marshall's ordeal had lasted before he intervened. He gave and exasperated sigh. Even handling Solo had been less trouble.

"Good. Because I still have a couple of questions that need answers and I won't tolerate any more inconvenience."

 _ **Hospital, killer's p.o.v.**_

He heard the wail of the alarm and accelerated. He needed to get to his room, fast. Fortunately he had rehearsed this type of scenario in his mind a hundred times and he knew that there was little chance of bumping into guards in this part of the building. While he ran, he removed the mask, cap, gloves and the white coat and balled them up. He wasn't worried about the surveillance cameras. He had taken care of that earlier. The bullet fired by Sanders had grazed his arm. He kept the balled-up coat firmly pressed against the wound. He didn't want to leave a blood trail. The stinging pain was delightful but he knew he couldn't allow himself to be distracted by it. He would relish it later.

 _Marshall is still alive…_

No. He couldn't afford to think about that now either. Still he could feel frustration building up inside him. He had been robbed of the satisfaction of killing his target.

 _Sanders…_

He could have easily killed Marshall's handler. In fact he would have greatly enjoyed stabbing that scalpel into his eye and twisting the blade until there was nothing left but a bloody mess. Then a quick, precise stab between the ribs, or to the neck, to finish him off… But Sanders was simply not his target. In his line of work, discipline was key. As much as he hated the comparison, he had to be like a well-trained dog if he didn't want to end up unemployed, or dead. As anticipated, he reached his room without encountering anyone. He closed the door behind him and locked it. He needed to work fast if he didn't want to arouse suspicion. He pulled a suitcase from the closet and stuffed the white coat, mask, cap and gloves inside. He would dispose of those later. He removed his shirt and added it to the contents of the suitcase. Then he took a look at the wound on his arm. It was barely bleeding. The sight of his own blood sent a thrill through him. He wanted to press on the wound but he resisted the temptation. He opened a drawer and grabbed a piece of gauze and some tape. He quickly dressed the wound, put on a clean shirt and strapped on his shoulder holster. Then he unlocked the door and calmly stepped into the corridor.

 _Now, let's see if we can catch that dangerous individual…_

 _ **Solo's hospital room, the next day, Napoleon's p.o.v.**_

Gaby and Illya had arrived early to warn Napoleon that Waverly would be holding some kind of informal meeting in his room that afternoon. What he had not been warned about, however, was that his ex-handler would be there too. As he watched the middle-aged, grumpy man follow Waverly into the room, the thought crossed his mind that if he had known, he would probably have ruptured his stitches on purpose just to be excused from that meeting. It wasn't that he hated his ex-boss. He just liked him better when he wasn't there.

"Solo, Kuryakin, Miss Teller…"

Waverly had his usual "we're-all-friends" smile on. He made formal introductions between Sanders and Gaby. Napoleon noticed that Sanders was looking at him with the usual mixture of contempt and disappointment.

 _Ah. How I have missed that look…_

"So, I suppose you're all wondering what Mr. Sanders is doing here.", Waverly started. He didn't seem bothered by the fact that he was the only one smiling in the room. "Remember your new CIA playfellow, agent Asher Marshall? Well, Solo's former handler, Mr. Sanders here, happens to be Marshall's current handler. Charming coincidence, don't you think?"

 _Well, my condolences, agent Asher Marshall…_

"Is everything okay with agent Marshall?", Gaby asked, and he noticed that she was nervously chewing her bottom lip.

Sanders proceeded to tell them how a killer, disguised as a doctor, hired by the organization they were investigating, had tortured and almost killed his agent in his hospital room during the night.

"We don't know how he managed to get to Marshall, we don't know how he managed to get out. The building was full of security guards, no one saw him, not even on the surveillance feed."

Napoleon raised an eyebrow.

"He's good."

"He's more than good, Solo. If I hadn't had too much work and a bad case of insomnia last night, Marshall would be dead and no one would be able to piece together what had happened. The thing is, I don't think the man will give up so easily. And since you were involved in Marshall's mission, even if it was unintentional, there is a risk that he might target you as well."

 _I'm sure you would be devastated, Sir…_

"I'm afraid that means you will no longer be able to spend time alone with the nurses, Solo.", Waverly added with a small, falsely apologetic smile.

"Pity. I have to say I wouldn't mind getting handcuffed to the bed by one of them."

Napoleon grinned as he saw his former handler's mouth twist into a grimace of annoyance.

"I wonder how you can stand him.", Sanders said, turning to Waverly.

"I just happen to have a sense of humor.", the Englishman answered with a smile, shutting him up in typical Waverly fashion.

The meeting went on for a while, then Sanders left and the atmosphere in the room seemed to lighten.

"It was uncharacteristically nice of Sanders to warn you that your agents might be targeted. I never knew he had a sense of fair play."

"Well, don't forget that you are one of the CIA's assets, Solo. He still thinks of you as one of his little proteges. Besides, he wasn't only warning me that you, Kuryakin, or Miss Teller were potential targets. He was also suggesting that I use my agents as bait to capture the killer."

"Charming."

"I said I would think about it.", Waverly added, winking at them. "Apparently, that's what my colleague from the CIA intends to do with agent Marshall."

Napoleon saw Illya roll his eyes and Gaby resume her nervous lip-chewing.

 _One lucky fellow, that agent Marshall…_

 _ **Unknown location, killer's p.o.v.**_

He took off his shirt and sat down on the bed. He could see a small dried blood stain on the bandage. He removed the tape and gauze, scratched off the coagulated blood and pressed on the skin around the wound to make it bleed. He took a moment to appreciate the stinging pain, then he dressed the wound again. He got up, grabbed the files and spread them out on the bed before him. The first one was Marshall's. He couldn't help but feel a pang of frustration as he read the agent's name. He couldn't wait to get another opportunity to kill him. He wanted to hear Marshall take his last breaths. He wanted to feel his heartbeat falter and stop. He wanted to see the light go out in his eyes. But he knew now was not the right time. Now that they knew Marshall was one of his targets, approaching him would be more difficult. The wisest course of action was to leave Marshall alone for a while and eliminate another target in the meantime. He let his gaze travel from one file to the next. Solo looked so smug in the photograph. Killing him would be fun. The girl he would dispatch quickly, female targets rarely represented a challenge. Kuryakin, now that was a different story. A thrill of excitement ran through him at the prospect of killing the KGB agent. His thoughts were interrupted by the ringing of the telephone. The sudden noise surprised him but not the call itself. He had known it would come, sooner or later. He picked up the receiver and listened without uttering a word. He was not supposed to talk. After a few minutes, the call ended and he made a conscious effort not to slam down the receiver and hurl the phone at the large mirror in front of him. Discipline. Apparently his employers had had a change of heart. He hated it when that happened. They didn't realize how hard it was to take your mind off a target once you had decided that they would die at your hands. He forced himself to calm down by pressing his fingers against the wound in his arm. After all, he knew his employers. And he knew it was only a matter of time before the hunt was on again. He gathered the files from the bed and returned them to his empty suitcase. He couldn't wait.

 **End of chapter 11 (and of the story, I swear :) )**

 **Many thanks to Tamuril2 who suggested that Sanders join the story as Marshall's handler, it was really fun to write :)**

 **(and thanks for the reviews on chapter 10 :) )**


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